PQ 
4315.58 
.R7 
190^1 


fTHÈl 
LIFE 


A 
A 

ucsc 

n 

UT 

0 
0 

9 

1 

=s 

RN 

o 

2 

6 

5 

9 
0 

- 

1 

■1 

h.'. 

I  LIBRARY 

I  UNIVERSITY  OF 

I  rALIfORNIA 

I  SAN  DIEGO        ; 


iiliiliii 


1''f,.?*1  DIEGO 

nriiiiii  iiirii  Tini 


3  1822  00467  3711 


P6{ 


'iiu:   m;\v   I.JIJ-; 


H«ad  of  Dante 

(Pr.nitn^- hs  f.  li.  Koistltn 


C1)C  iìCVD  Ulte 

^LA   MIA    NL"0\A; 

DAN  II     ALIGHIIRI 


l'RANSI.ATKD   HV 
/; .  /X 1 E  G .  Ili  KIEL  RU  SS  E  i  '  7  7 


N  K  \y    York. 
HOMAS   Y.  CROWKLL  i5    CO. 

4*  U  H  I.  I  S  H  K  R  S 


CJjc  iìrU)  2.tfr 

(La     \   ilii    A  iKira  J 

¥  \  tli.-it  part  of  the  IxmU  of  my  iiifiiiory  ht'f'ore 
■*  the  which  is  littlf  thit  cm  lie  read,  there  is 
.1  rubric,  savin;;,  I  nei  pit  lilii  Xora.  L'nder  such 
rubric  I  find  written  many  thin<r.s;  and  among  them 
the  words  which  1  ])ur|)ose  to  copy  into  this  little 
hook;  it"  not  all  of  them,  at  the  least  their  substance. 
Nine  times  already  since  my  birth  had  the  heaven 
of  light  returned  to  the  selfsame  point  almost,  ns 
concerns  its  own  revolution,  when  first  the  glorious 
Lady  of  my  mind  was  made  manifest  to  mine  eyes; 
even  slie  who  w.is  called  Beatrice  by  many  who 
knew  not  wherefore.  She  had  already  been  in  this 
life  for  so  long  as  that,  within  her  time,  the  starry 
heaven  had  moved  towards  the  l.astern  (piarter  one 
of  the  twchc  jiarts  of  a  degree;  so  that  she  ap- 
peared to  me  at  the  beginning  of  her  ninth  year 
almost,  and  I  saw  her  almost  at  the  end  of  my 
ninth  year.  Her  dress,  on  that  day,  was  of  a  most 
noble  colour,  a  subdued  and  goodly  crimson,  girdled 
and  adorned  in  such  sort  as  bist  suited  with  her 
very  ti-nder  age.  At  that  motnent,  I  say  most  truly 
that  the  sjiirit  of  life,  which  hath  its  dwelling  in 
the  secretest  chamber  of  tlie  heart,  began  to  treiiiltle 
so  violently  that  the  le.isl  pulses  of  my  body  shook 


ZUc  OfUi   Ulte 

tlitrcwitli  ;  .irKi  in  lr<iiil)liiiji  it  s.iid  tlicst-  words: 
i'.cci'  deus  fortior  mv,  t/iii  tfiiirns  tlomiiKthitur  mihi. 
At  tli.it  inoinriit  tlu'  aiiiiii.-itc  spirit,  which  dwcllcth 
ill  ihf  IoJ"ty  fhamlu'r  whither  all  the  srnsfs  carry 
their  pereeptions.  was  filled  with  wonder,  and 
speakinj;  more  especially  unto  the  spirits  of"  tin- 
eyes,  said  these  words:  Apparuit  jam  lnuititudu 
vi'stra.  At  that  inoineiit  the  n.itural  sj)irit.  whieli 
dwelleth  there  where  olir  noiirishiiieiit  is  admin- 
istered, lie^an  to  weep,  and  in  weepinj;  said  these 
words:  Urn  iin.scr!  tjiiiti  f  rcijitfiilfr  iniprdHiis  ero 
diiiicrps. 

I  say  that,  from  that  time  ("orw.ird.  I,o\c  (piite 
governed  my  soul;  which  was  imiiK'diatelv  espoused 
to  him.  and  with  so  safe  anil  undisputed  a  lordsliip 
(by  virtue  of  stronj^  imajrination  )  that  I  had  noth- 
inj;  left  for  it  hut  to  do  all  his  bidding  continuallv. 
He  oftentimes  commanded  me  to  seek  it"  I  mij^ht 
se»-  this  youn<rest  of"  the  An<;els:  wherefore  I  in  mv 
hoyhood  oftt  n  went  in  search  ol  her,  and  found 
her  so  nohle  and  j)raiseworlhy  that  certainly  of  her 
mi^ht  have  beer»  said  those  words  of  the  poet 
Homer,  "  She  si-emcd  not  to  be  the  dauf^hter  of  a 
mortal  inan.  but  of  (Jod.  "  And  albeit  her  imaj^e, 
that  was  with  mc  always,  was  an  exultation  of  Love 
to  subdue  inc.  it  was  yet  of  so  perfect  a  (piality  that 
it  never  allowed  me  to  be  overruled  by  I.ove  with- 
out the  faithful  counsel  of  reason,  wlu-nsocver  such 
counsel  was  useful  to  be  heard.  Hut  secinj?  that 
were  I  to  dwi-Il  overmuch  on  the  p.issions  and  doings 
of  such  early  youth,  my  words  might  be  counted 
something  f.ibulous,  I  will  therefore  put  them 
aside;  .and  j).issing  m.iiiy  things  tli.at  m.iy  be  con- 
ceivi  (1  by  the  p.ittcrn  of  these.  I  will  come  to  such 
as  are  writ  in  niv  inemorv  with  .a  better  distinctness. 


The  Salutation  of  Beatiice  m  Flor< 
( Drannu^  by  D.  C  fCossfttt) 


ZUc  OcUj  il  iff 

Af'trr  tlic  lapse  of  so  iii.iiiy  days  that  nine  years 
'xactlv  were  completed  sinee  the  ahove-written  ap- 
pearance of"  this  most  {jraeioiis  hein}^,  on  the  last  of 
those  days  it  hajjpcned  that  the  same  wonderful 
lady  apj)eared  to  me  dresst-d  all  in  pure  wiiite.  Ix- 
tween  two  trenth'  ladies  elder  than  she.  And  pass- 
in<r  throiiji;h  a  street,  she  turned  her  eyes  thither 
where  I  stood  sorely  abashed:  and  hy  her  unspeak- 
able courtesy,  which  is  now  jfuerdoned  in  the  Great 
('\(le.  she  saluted  me  with  so  virtuous  a  bearing 
that  1  seemed  then  and  ther»'  to  behold  the  very 
limits  of  blessedness.  Tlit  hour  of  her  most  sweet 
salutatiorj  was  exactly  the  ninth  of  that  day;  and 
because  it  was  the  first  time  that  any  words  from 
her  reached  mine  cars,  I  came  into  such  sweetness 
that  I  p.irted  thence  as  one  intoxicated.  And  be- 
taking me  to  tile  loneliness  of  mine  own  room,  I 
fell  to  thinkiiifT  of  this  most  courteous  lady,  think- 
ing of  whom  I  was  overtaken  by  a  pleasant  slund)er. 
wherein  a  marvellous  vision  w.is  |)resented  to  me: 
for  tiiere  appeared  to  le  in  my  room  .i  mist  of  the 
colour  of  fir»',  within  the  which  I  discernt-d  the 
figure  of  a  lord  of  terrible  aspect  to  such  as  should 
gaze  upon  him,  but  who  seemed  therewithal  to  re- 
joice inwardly  th.it  it  w.is  a  marvel  to  se»-.  .*^peak- 
ing  he  said  m.my  things,  among  the  which  I  could 
underst.ind  but  few;  and  oi  lliese.  this:  l\u:(>  doiii- 
iiiii.s  I  mix.  In  his  .arms  it  seemed  to  me  tlial  .i 
person  w.is  sleeping,  covered  only  with  .i  blood- 
coloured  cloth;  upon  whom  looking  mtv  .ittentively, 
I  knew  tli.it  it  W.IS  the  l.ady  of  the  s.dutation  who 
had  deigned  the  d.ay  before  to  s.ilute  me.  And  he 
who  held  her  held  n\sn  in  his  li.iiid  .1  thing  tli.it 
was  burning  in  fl.imes;  .ind  he  s.iid  to  me.  J'idr 
cur    luuin.      \i\\[    wht  11     lie    h.id    reiii.'iiiird     \\ith     me 


«Tin-   Of  111  iiiff 

a  little  wliilr.  I  tlioti^lit  tli.it  III'  s<t  lliliisilt'  to 
aw.iktri  Imt  tli.it  sl<  pt  ;  iltrr  tin-  which  he  m;ul«- 
lii-r  t(i  cat  that  lliiii;;  which  tlaiiii d  in  his  hand; 
and  she  ate  as  one  tearing.  'I'hcn.  ha\in;^  waited 
a;;ain  a  space,  all  his  joy  was  tiirm-d  into  most 
hitter  weepin»;;  and  as  lit  wept  he  jjatlured  the 
I  idy  into  his  amis,  and  it  s«  i  iiied  to  me  that 
he  Went  with  Imp  up  low.irds  heaviii:  wherehy 
such  a  <;reat  anijiiish  cime  upon  iiu-  that  my 
li<rht  slinnlier  eotild  not  endure  tlirou;;!)  it.  Imt 
was  suddenlv  lirokeii.  And  inunediately  having 
considered.  I  knew  that  the  hour  wherein  this  vision 
had  heen  made  m mifest  to  uu'  w.is  the  fourth  hour 
(which  is  to  siy.  the  first  ot"  the  nine  list  hours) 
of  the  nijjlit. 

Then,  musini;  on  what  I  had  s««n.  I  pro|)osed  to 
relate  the  sann'  to  many  |)oels  who  wen-  famous  in 
that  dav:  and  for  that  !  h.id  myself  in  some  sort  the 
art  of  discoiirsini;  with  rhyme.  I  resolved  on  making 
a  sonnet,  in  the  which,  lia\  in<;  saluted  all  such  as 
are  subject  unto  I, ove.  and  entrt-aled  them  to  ex- 
pound mv  \ision,  I  should  write  unto  them  those 
thiniis  which  I  had  s«en  in  my  sleep.  .\nd  I  he  son 
m  t   1   made  was  this  : — 


To  e\(rv   heart   which  the  sweet   p.iin  iloth  move. 
And  unto  which  these  words  m.iy  now  he  hrouuhl 
I"or  true  interpretation  and  kiiui  thou;;ht. 

He  frrectiiif;  in  our   Lord's  name,  which  is   I.o\«-. 

Of  those  Ioni;  hours  wlienin   the  stars,  alnive. 
Wake    and    k(  (  p    w.iteli.  the    thirtl    was    almost 

nouirlit . 
When     I.(i\e    W.IS    shown    me    with    such    terrors 
fr.iu^ht 

As  may  not  carelessly   he  spoken  of. 


Zi]c  pcU)  ìlifc 

Hf  scrmt'd  like  oiu'  wlio  is  f  nil  ol  joy,  nud  had 
My  lii-.-irt  witliiii  his  hand,  and  on  his  arm 
My  lady,  with  a  inaiith-  round  her,  slt-pt; 
\\'honi  (having  wakened  her)  anon  he  made 
To  eat  that  heart;  she  ate,  as  fearing  harm. 
Then  he  went  out  ;  and  as  he  went,  he  wept. 

77//.V  soiinrt  is  tliritlcil  iiilt)  ( tro  jkiiIs.  In  the 
first  pent  I  give  liicttiiiii,  and  ask  an  ausircr;  in 
lite  .second,  I  sifrnifi/  uiiat  titiu<r  has  to  he  answered 
to.  Tlie  second  p.irt  coìnnicnccs  licrc:  "  Of  those 
long  hours." 

To  tliis  sonnet  I  reeei\ed  many  answers,  convey- 
ing many  diHerent  o])inions;  of"  the  which  one  was 
sent  hy  him  whom  I  now  call  the  first  among  my 
friends,  and  it  began  thus,  "  Into  my  tliinking 
thou  hehehl'st  all  worth."  And  indeed,  it  was 
when  he  learned  that  I  was  lie  who  had  sent  those 
rhymes  to  him,  that  our  friendship  comniene«'d. 
Hut  the  true  meaning  of  that  vision  was  not  then 
perceived  by  any  one.  thougli  it  be  now  e\  idi  iit  to 
the  least  skilful. 

l'"rom  that  night  iortli.  th<'  natural  timetions  of 
my  body  bi-gan  to  be  vexed  and  imjx'di-d.  for  I  was 
given  up  wholly  to  thinking  of  this  most  gracious 
enature:  when  by  in  short  sp.ice  I  beeam»-  so  weak 
and  so  reduced  that  it  was  irksome  to  many  of  my 
friends  to  look  upon  m<';  wliil»  others,  being  moved 
by  spite,  went  about  to  discover  what  it  was  my  wish 
should  be  concealed.  \\  ht  rt fore  I  (perceiving  the 
drift  of  th<'ir  unkindly  (piestions).  by  Love's  will, 
who  directed  me  according  to  the  comisels  of  rea.son, 
told    them    how    it   was    I.o\c   biuiselt    who    had   thus 

I    t)    I 


Che  Orili  li  if  e 

(I>mII  wit  II  inr  ;  .ukI  I  s.iid  SII.  Iicc.iiisc  t  III  tiling  was 
so  pl.iinly  ti»  l»i-  <lisc(rrn  (1  iii  my  couiittii.-iiicf  that 
tlitrr  was  no  loiif^cr  any  nuans  of  coiifcalinj;  it. 
l'ut  wlitti  tlity  wiiit  on  to  ask:  "  And  liy  wliosr  lnl|) 
li.itli  I.o\c  (lonr  tiiis?  '  I  looked  in  tlitir  f  acrs  sniil- 
iiii:;.  and  spaki    mi  \Mird  in  n  turn. 

Now  it  Irli  on  .1  d  ly.  lliit  this  nio.sl  ^rarious 
crt'aturr  was  siltin^c  wlnn  words  won-  to  l)r  heard 
of  the  (furili  ol"  (ilory  ;  and  I  was  in  a  place  whence 
mine  ey«s  could  licliold  their  lieatitnde:  and  hetwixt 
her  and  me.  in  a  direct  lin«'.  tlicr»'  sal  aiiother  lady 
of  a  pleasant  favour;  who  looked  round  at  me  many 
times.  niar\('llin^  at  my  continued  jra/.e  which 
seemed  to  ha\c  lur  for  its  ohjecl.  And  many  per- 
eri\i(l  tii.il  sill  thus  looked;  so  that  de|)artinf; 
tliiiicr,  I  heard  it  whispered  after  me.  "  Look  you 
to  wli.il  a  pass  .v//(7;  (I  hull/  hath  lirou^ht  him;  "  and 
in  saving,  this  tiny  named  her  who  had  been  mid- 
way I.etwii  II  the  most  «lentie  Heatrice  and  mine 
eyes,  'riiereforc  I  was  reassured,  and  knew  that 
for  that  day  my  secret  had  not  become  manifest. 
Then  immediately  it  came  into  my  mind  that  I 
mi<?ht  make  us»'  of  this  l.ady  as  a  screen  to  the  truth: 
and  so  well  did  I  ])lay  my  part  that  the  most  of 
those  who  liad  hitlurto  watched  and  womhred  at  me 
now  ifiiafrined  they  had  found  me  out.  Hy  lur  means 
I  kept  my  secret  concealed  till  some  years  were  gone 
o\er;  and  for  my  better  security  I  »-vcn  made  divers 
rhymes  in  her  honour;  whereof  I  shall  Iure  write 
only  .IS  much  .as  concerneth  the  most  gentle  lie.a- 
trice.  which  is  but  a  Mry  little.  Moreov«T.  about 
the  s.iuie  time  while  this  l.idy  w.is  a  screen  for  s») 
mucii  lo\e  on  my  ))art.  I  took  the  resolution  to  set 
down  the  n.ime  of  this  most  gracious  creature 
accompanied  with  iniiiy  other  women's  names,  and 

[10] 


Zt\c  |>ctD  ìiìk 

especially  with  litrs  whom  I  spake  of.  And  to  this 
end  I  put  together  the  names  of  sixty  of  the  most 
beautiful  ladies  in  th.it  eity  where  (jod  had  placed 
mine  own  lady;  and  tliese  names  I  introduced  in  an 
epistle  in  the  form  of  a  sirvciit.  which  it  is  not  my 
intention  to  transcribe  here.  Neither  should  I  have 
said  anything  of  this  matter,  did  I  not  wish  to  take 
note  of  a  certain  strange  thing,  to  wit:  that  having 
written  tlie  list,  I  found  my  lady's  name  would  not 
stand  otherwis<'  than  ninth  in  order  .niKUig  the  names 
of  these  ladies. 

Now  it  so  c-hanced  with  her  by  whose  means  I  had 
thus  long  time  concealed  my  desire,  that  it  behoved 
her  to  leave  the  city  I  speak  of,  and  to  journey  afar: 
wherefore  I,  being  sorely  perj^lexed  at  the  loss  of 
so  excellent  a  defence,  had  more  trouble  than  even 
I  could  before  liave  sujiposcd.  .\nd  thinking  that 
if  I  spoke  not  somewhat  mourniully  of  her  depart- 
ure, my  former  counterfeiting  would  be  the  more 
(juickly  ])erceived,  I  determined  that  I  would  make 
a  grievous  sonnet  theri-of;  the  which  I  will  write 
here,  because  it  hath  certain  words  in  it  whereof 
my  lady  was  the  innnediate  cause,  as  will  be  plain 
to  him  that  understands.  Atid  the  sonnet  was 
this: — 

All  ye  that  pass  along  Love's  trodden  way, 
Pause  ye  awhile  and  say 

If  there  be  any  grief  like  unto  mine: 
I  pray  you  that  you  hearken  :i  short  s))ace 
Patiently,  if  my  cise 

He  not  a  piteous  ninrvil  and  a  sign. 

I,o\e    (ncM'r,  certes,  for  my   worthless   ])art, 
Hut  of  his  own  great  heart.) 

\'ouchsafed  to  me  a  life  so  calm   and  sweet 

I    11     I 


sTlìf   Oc  111   il  iff 

rii.it  (lit    I   III  ini  liijk  (|ll('^ti<l||  MS  !   wirit 
\\  li.it   MK'li  ^rc.it  f;l.i(liuss  ini-.int  : 

Tiny   >|Kikr  of  it   licliind   ini-  in  tin-  si  net. 

liiil   now    lli.il    |"i-.irlrss  lu-.iriii;;  is  ,ill   ^niir 

W  liifli  with   lx)\r'.s  liii.'inl'il  \v«  .iltli  w.is  jrivni  me; 
Till    I  .1111  Lcmwii  til  111' 
Sn  |uM)r  tliil    I    li.i\c  (In   1(1  1(1  think  tlicrcdri. 

And  thus  it  is  th.it    I.  hcin^  like  .'is  oiic 
Who  is  .ish.imi'd  .ind   hides  his   ixncrty. 
A\'ithinit   sctin    tuli    (»l    fZ^rt\ 

And   lit   my  hciii  within  tr.i\.iil  .ind  nio.in. 

77//.V  porn)  lui.s  tiro  priiiii/xtl  partx ;  f'ltr,  in  the 
first,  I  nifdii  to  mil  tin-  Faitiijul  of  Low  in  tlio.sr 
words  of  Jcrcniids  tin-  Proplirt,  "  ()  vos  «)iiiii<-s  (|iii 
tr.msitis  per  \i.iiii.  .ittcnditc  »t  \  idrtr  si  fst  doKir 
.siciit  dolor  mens.  tinil  to  prnji  tiicm  to  -itaif  and 
hear  nir.  In  the  .second  1  tril  irlirrr  I, on-  had 
placed  me,  with  a  nieanin<r  other  than  that  irhich 
the  last  part  of  the  poem  shoirs,  and  I  sai/  what  I 
hare  lost.  The  second  part  hei^ins  here,  "  Lore, 
(  never,  certes  )." 

A  ccrt-iin  while  .-ifter  the  dep.irtiire  of  th.-it  Inly, 
it  ple.i.scd  the  M.ister  ol  the  Angels  to  f.'dl  into  His 
<;lory  a  d;inisel,  youiij;  .md  of  a  /^«'iille  j)rfsen»T. 
who  h.id  heeii  \«ry  lovely  in  the  city  I  spe.ik  ot  : 
.111(1  I  siw  her  hody  lyin;;  without  its  soul  .iniong 
ni.iny  I  idii  s.  who  held  ;i  pitiful  weeping.  Where- 
upon, n  ni(  niherinj;  tli.it  1  h.id  sren  her  in  tlir  coni- 
p.my  of  cxcclh-nt  HcatricT,  I  could  not  hinder  niy- 
s«'lf  from  .1  few  tears;  ;nid  weepinj;.  I  conceived  to 
say  soniewh.it  of   her  de.ith,   in   jjuerdon  of  having 


€()c  IìcUj  ilifc 

seen  lit-r  soiiMwIiilc  witli  my  lady;  wliicli  lliinj;  I 
spake  of  in  tlu-  latter  end  of  the  verses  that  I  writ 
in  this  matter,  as  he  will  diseern  who  understands. 
And  I  wrote  two  sonnets,  which  are  these: — 


I. 


Weep,  Lovers,  sitli   I,o\«"s  very  srlf  doth  weep, 

And  sith  the  cause  for  weepinfr  is  so  frrtat  ; 

When  now  so  many  dames,  of  such  estate 
In  wortli,  show  with  their  eyes  a  fjrief  so  deej): 
Tor  Death  the  ehurl  has  laid  his  li-aden  sli»  p 

Upon  a  damsel  who  was  fair  of  late. 

Defacing  all  our  earth  should  ethhrate. — 
Yea  all  sa\c  virtui'.  which  tlie  soul  doth  keep. 
Now  hearken  how  much  I,o\f  did  honour  her. 

I  myself  saw  him  in  his  proper  form 

BendinjT  above  the  motionless  sweet  dead. 
And  often  jjazin^  into  lie.aven;  for  ther»- 

Till-  soul  now  sits  which  when  her  life  was  warm 
l)w<lt  with  the  joyful   h(  auty  tliat  is  Hed. 

77//.V  first  soutiet  is  dìvitlcd  into  tlirrc  parts.  In 
the  first,  I  ((ill  (111(1  hcscrrh  the  Faitliful  of  Love 
to  ii'ccp;  and  I  sai/  that  their  Lord  weeps,  and  that 
the)/,  hearing  the  reason  trhi/  he  ireeps,  shcdl 
be  more  minded  to  listen  to  nie.  In  the  second,  I 
relate  this  reason.  In  the  third,  I  spealc  of  honour 
done  bi/  Love  to  this  Ladi/.  The  second  part  bei^ins 
here,  "  IVhen  non-  so  inani/  dantes;  "  the  third  here, 
'■  Xow  hearken." 


[I'M 


Zi)C  pcU)  il  Iff 


II. 


Dkatii,  .ilw.iys  (TUt  I.   I'ily's  foe  in  c-lii«f, 

.M(»tli«T  wild  hpDUj^lit   forth  grief", 

Mircilcss   i  ii(li;iiit  lit  .111(1  without  appeal  I 
Si:u'i-  thoii  .iliiiic  li.ist   iii.i(ie  my  he.irt  t(»  fCil 
'llli.s    .s;i(iiir.s.s   and    uiiWf.il, 

My  t(»iiu;ue  uphraidttli  thee  without   n  lief. 

And  now   (^tor   I  must  rid  thy  ii.iiin'  of  ruth) 

Hehovi'.s  nie  .speak  the  I  rulli 

Touehing  thy  cruelty  ,iiid  wickedness: 

Not  that  they  he  not   known;  Imi   ne'ertheless 

I  would  };i\c  h.ite  more  stress 

With  tliein   th.it  tfed  on   love  in   very  sooth. 

Out  ol  this  world  thou  h.isl  driven  courtesy. 
And  virtue,  dearly  |)rized  in  womanhood; 
And  out  of  youth's  <jay  mood 

The  hivcly  li<rhtness  i.s  (}uitc  gone  through  thee. 

W  lioin  now   I   mourn,  no  ni.in  shall  le.irn   from  me 
Save  liy  IIk    measure  of  these  praises  given. 
W  hoso  d<ser\es  not  Heaven 

.M.iy   ne\ir  hope  to  have  her  comp.iny. 

77//.V  poctii  i.s  (lir'ulcd  into  four  [xirts.  In  tin 
first  I  (iddrc.s.s  Dcaili  hi/  ccrlaiii  proper  names  of 
liirs.  In  the  scronil,  .speaking  to  her,  I  fell  the 
reason  nlii/  I  am  inored  to  denounee  her.  hi  the 
third  I  mil  a^ain.st  her.  In  the  fourth,  I  turn  to 
spilli:  to  (I  person  undefined,  altìioiiiiìi  defined  in 
mil   oirn    lonrrption.      Tin-   second   part   eommenee.s 

I    1  1-    I 


€f)e  IfJcto  Hift 

here,  "Since  thou  alour;  "  the  third  here,  "  And 
now  (for  I  must);  "  the  fourth  here,  "  iVhoso  de- 
serves not." 

Soiiif  (lays  after  tlif  dfatli  n\'  this  lady.  I  liad  oc- 
casion to  leave  tlie  city  I  speak  ol",  and  to  go  tliither- 
\var(]s  where  s\\v  abode  who  liad  formerly  l)een  my 
protection;  albeit  the  end  of  my  journey  reached 
not  altogether  so  far.  And  notwithstanding  that  I 
was  visibly  in  the  eomiiany  ol  many,  the  journey 
was  so  irksome  that  I  had  scarcely  sighing  enough 
to  ease  my  heart's  heaviness;  seeing  that  as  I  went, 
I  left  my  beatitude  behind  me.  \\'htrefore  it  came 
to  pass  that  lie  who  ruUd  me  by  virtue  of  my  most 
gentle  lady  was  made  visible  to  my  mind,  in  the 
light  habit  of  a  traveller,  coarsely  fashioned.  He 
appeared  to  me  troubled,  and  looked  always  on  the 
ground;  saving  only  that  sonictimrs  his  eyes  were 
turned  towards  a  ri\rr  which  w  is  (  bar  and  rapid, 
and  which  flowed  along  the  path  1  was  taking. 
And  then  I  thought  that  Love  called  me  and  said  to 
me  these  words:  "  I  come  from  that  lady  who  was 
so  long  thy  surety;  for  the  matter  of  whose  re- 
turn, I  know  that  it  may  not  be.  Wlieri fon  I  have 
taken  that  heart  which  I  made  thee  leave  with 
her,  and  do  bear  it  unto  another  lady.  who.  as  she 
was,  sh.all  be  thy  surety;  "  (and  when  he  named  her 
I  knew  her  well).  "  And  of  these  words  I  have 
spoken,  if  thou  shouldst  speak  any  again,  li-t  it  be 
in  such  sort  as  that  none  shall  jierceive  thereby 
that  thy  lov«-  was  feigned  lor  Ik  r.  which  tlioii  nmst 
now  feign  for  another."  And  win  n  he  li.id  spoken 
thus,  all  my  imagining  was  gone  suddenly,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  tliat  I,o\i-  beeanic  a  p.irt  of  mvsclf: 
so  that,  changed  as   il   were   in  ininr  aspect,    1    rode 

1   15  I 


Z\]c  pctu  Ulte 

on  full  of  llioiiulit  III.  wlinl)  i.f  lli.il  (lay.  and  with 
hravy  .sij;liin^'.  And  tli<  day  Ixinjjf  ov«t,  I  wrntc 
lliis  sonnet  : — 

A   II  *v  ap)nc.  as   I   rode  sullrnlv 

I   |)on  a  (-«Ttain  path  that  lik« d  inr  not. 

I    nut   I,o\r  midway  whih-  the  air  was  hot. 
(  Icithi-d  lijjhtly  as  a  wayl'arcr  niijilit  he. 
And  tor  the  flirrr  lie  showed.  In-  seemed  to  luv 

As  one  who  hath  lost  lordshi|>  he  had  ^ot  ; 

Ad\aneinj^  towrds  me  full  of  sorrowful  tlioujiht. 
Mowing  his  foreluad  so  that  none  should  sit. 
Till  II  as   I   went,  he  called  me  liy  my  iiami". 

Sayinj;:  "  I    journey  sinee  the  morn  was  dim 

Till  ric-(    wIk  re    I    made  thy   heart  to  lie:   which 

MOW 

\   needs  must  111' ir  unto  anotlar  dam».  ' 

W  Inn  with  so  iiiueli   passed   into  nu'  of    him 
That  he  was  ;;oiie,  and   I  discerned  not  how. 

77/j.v  sonnet  has  three  parts.  In  the  first  part,  I 
tell  how  I  met  Love,  and  of  his  aspeet.  In  the 
second,  I  tell  n-Juit  he  said  to  me,  altlnmiih  not  in 
full,  throiii^h  the  fear  I  hail  of  diseoverinfr  mtf 
secret.  In  the  third,  I  sai/  how  he  disappeared. 
'The  second  part  eomnienees  here,  "  Then  as  I 
went;  "  the  third  here,  "  iVherewith  so  much." 


(  )n  ni\  n  turn.  I  set  myself  to  seek  out  that  lady 
whom  my  master  had  named  to  m«'  while  I  jour- 
neyed si^hin^.  And  liecause  I  would  he  brief,  1 
will  MOW  narrate  that  in  a  short  while  I  made  her 
my  surety,  in  such  sort  that  the  matter  was  spoken 
of  liy  many  in  terms  scar<-ely  I'otirteous;  through 
the    wliiili     I     had    otteiiwhiles    many    troublesome 


orile  j^cvu  iiiff 

hours.  And  \>y  tlli^  it  liappcin d  (to  wit:  l)y  this 
false  .'ind  tvil  ruiiKUir  whic-li  siJiiud  to  inist'.-iiiic  me 
of  vice)  that  .she  who  was  the  destroyer  of  all 
evil  and  the  (jueeii  of  all  j^ood,  eomiii^  where  I  was, 
denied  nie  her  most  sweet  s.ilutation,  in  the.  which 
alone  was  my  blessedness. 

And  here  it  is  fittinj;  for  me  to  depart  a  little 
from  this  present  matter,  that  it  may  be  rightly 
understood  of  what  surj)assing  virtue  her  salutation 
was  to  iiH  .  Tn  the  which  iiid  I  say  that  when  shcr 
aj)peared  in  any  place,  it  seemed  to  me,  by  the  hope 
of  her  «xcelhiit  salutation,  that  there  was  no  man 
mine  enemy  any  longer;  and  such  warmth  of 
cliarity  came  upon  me  that  most  certainly  in  that 
moment  I  would  have  pardoned  whosoever  had  done 
me  an  injury;  and  if  one  should  then  have  (pies- 
tioned  me  concerning  any  matter,  I  could  only  have 
said  unto  him,  "  Love,"  with  a  countenance  clothed 
in  humbleness.  And  what  time  she  made  ready  to 
salute  me.  the  spirit  of  Love,  destroying  all  other 
perc»-ptions,  thrust  forth  the  feeble  spirits  of  my 
eyes,  saying,  "  Do  hom.ige  unto  your  mistress," 
and  putting  itself  in  their  place  to  obey:  so  th.it  he 
who  would,  might  then  have  beheld  Love,  behold- 
ing the  lids  of  mine  eyes  shake.  And  when  this 
most  gentle  lady  gave  her  salutation,  Love,  so  far 
from  being  a  medium  beclouding  mine  intolerable 
b»'atitude,  then  bred  in  me  such  .m  t)verp(twering 
sweetniss  that  my  body,  being  all  subjected  there- 
to, remained  many  times  helpless  and  passive. 
\N'hereby  it  is  made  manifest  that  in  her  salutation 
alone  was  there  any  beatitude  for  me.  which  then 
\<ry  often  went  beyond  my  enduranti  . 

And  now,  resuming  my  discourse,  I  will  go  on  to 
relate  that  when,  for  the  (irst  time,  this   beatitude 

LI' J 


ZUc  Orili  li  iff 

w.is  (!(  iiiid  UIC.  I  lictMim  |Hississ<(|  witli  siifli  j^riff" 
tli.it,  partili^  iiiysclC  troni  otlnrs.  1  wi-iit  into  a 
lonriy  plart-  to  liatlif  tlu-  ^njund  witli  most  hitter 
tears:  and  wlun,  liy  this  heat  of  w««j)in^,  1  was 
soniewliat  relit-ved,  I  hetook  myself  to  my  chamher, 
where  I  couhl  lament  unheard.  And  there,  li.iv- 
ììì}f  pr.iyed  to  the  L.ady  of  .ill  Mercies,  .and  li.i\  iiij; 
said  .also,  "  ()  Love,  aid  thou  thy  servant,"  1  wi  nt 
suddenly  .ash-ep  like  .a  he.iten  sohhin^  child.  And 
in  my  sleep,  tow.ards  th<-  middle  ol  it,  1  seemed 
to  see  in  the  room,  seated  .at  my  side.  ;i  youth  in 
very  white  r.iiment,  who  kept  his  eyes  fixed  «ui  me 
in  deep  tlioujrht.  And  when  he  Ii.ad  jf.azed  some 
time.  I  ihou^ht  tli.it  he  sighed  .and  e.illed  to  me  in 
these  words:  "  l'ili  mi,  tcnipii.s  est  iit  pra-tfniiii- 
(diitiir  siiiiiiltittt  iiiistid."  And  thereupon  1  seemed 
to  know  him:  for  tiie  voice  w.as  the  s.ame  wherewith 
he  h.ad  spoken  .at  other  times  in  my  sleep.  Then 
lookini;  .at  him,  I  perceived  th.at  he  w.is  weepiiijr 
piteously,  .111(1  tli.it  he  seemed  to  hi'  w.aitinj;  for  me 
to  spe.ik.      \\'her<fore,  t.iking  lie.irt.   I   he^.an   thus: 

Why  weepi'st  thou,  M.aster  of  .ill  honour:  "  .Viid 
he  made  .answer  to  mo:  "Ego  taiujitain  centrum 
ciniili,  (Ili  simili  modo  se  Jiaht'iit  cirrumfcmilia' 
partes:  tu  nut  cm  non  sic."  And  thinkinff  u))on  his 
words,  they  seemed  to  me  ohscure;  so  th.at  .i^j.iin 
compelling    myself    unto   s|)eecli,    1    .asked    of    him: 

W'li.at  tiling  is  this,  M.aster,  th.it  thou  li.ist  spoken 
thus  d.arkly.'''"  To  the  which  he  ni.ade  .answer  in 
the  vulir.ar  toniriK  :  "  Dem.ind  no  more  tli.an  m.ay  he 
iis(  rul  til  Ihrc."  \\  liciTupon  I  hejr.an  to  discourse 
with  iiiiu  eonet  iMiiiiii;  ht  r  s.ilut.ilion  which  sin-  h.ad 
dcnital  me;  .and  when  1  had  (|uesti(Mied  liim  of  tlie 
c.ause,  he  s.iid  these  words:  "Our  He.ilrice  li.atli 
heard  from  certain  jiersons,  th.at  the  lady  whom  1 

1    IS   J 


orbe  pcuj  ìiifc 

named  to  tluc  wliiK-  tliou  joiinu  \ dst  full  ol'  sij^hs 
i.s  sorely  (lis(|iiirt((l  liy  tliy  .solicitations:  .iiui  tlitrc- 
fore  this  most  gracious  creature,  who  is  the  enemy 
of"  all  disquiet,  being  tearful  of  such  disquiet,  re- 
fused to  salute  thee.  lor  the  which  reason  (albeit, 
in  very  sooth,  thy  secret  must  needs  lia\e  beeonic 
known  to  her  by  familiar  observation;  it  is  my  will 
that  thou  compose  certain  things  in  rhyme,  in  the 
which  thou  shalt  set  forth  how  strong  a  master- 
ship I  have  obtained  over  thee,  through  her;  and 
how  thou  wast  hers  even  from  thy  childhood.  Also 
do  thou  call  upon  him  that  knoweth  these  things  to 
bear  witness  to  them,  bidding  him  to  speak  with  her 
thereof;  the  which  I,  who  am  he,  will  do  willingly. 
And  thus  she  shall  be  made  to  know  thy  desire; 
knowing  which,  she  shall  know  likewise  that  they 
were  deceived  who  spake  of  thee  to  her.  And  so 
write  these  things,  that  tluy  shall  seem  rather  to  be 
s|)oken  by  a  third  person;  and  not  directly  by  thei- 
to  her,  which  is  scarce  fitting.  After  the  which, 
send  them,  not  without  ine,  where  she  may  chance 
to  hear  them;  but  have  them  fittid  with  a  pleasant 
nuisic,  into  the  wlii«  li  I  will  pa^s  whensoe\tr  it 
needeth."  ^\'ith  this  speech  he  was  away,  and  my 
sleep  was   broken  up. 

W'lureupon,  remembi-ring  me,  I  knew  that  I  had 
beheld  this  vision  during  the  ninth  hour  of  the  day; 
and  I  resoh  ed  that  1  would  make  a  ditty,  before  I 
left  my  ehamlur.  according  to  the  words  my  master 
had  spoken.     And  this  is  the  ditly  thai   I   made: — 

SoN(;,  'tis  my  will  (hat  lliou  do  seek  out    l,o\e. 
And  go  with  him  where  my  dear  lady  is; 
That  so  my  cause,  the  which  thy   harmor.ies 

D»)  plead,  his  better  speech  may  tliarly  pro\e. 

I    li)    I 


ZUc   Oflu   Uiff 

riimi   "jncst,  my  ^tm^i,  iii   muIi    i  ouirtidiis  kind, 
TIi.il  «veil  ci)iii|>.iiii(iiil('s.s 

llitMi  in.iysl  r«ly  on  lliysrll"  ;iii\  wlirrc. 
And  \t[,  .III  tlioii  WDuldsl  irti  llitf  a  s.itr  iiiinJ. 
lirsl  iiiilo   I. ove  .iddriss 

'I'liy    steps;    wliosr    ;iid,    iiiayli.ip.    'twfn-    ill    to 

span-, 
Sc»iii;>;    tli.it     slic    to    wlioiii     llioii     in.ik'sl     thy 
pr.iyi  r 
Is,   IS  I  think,  ill-iiiiiidcd  unto  nic. 
And  th.'it   il    I.ovc  do  not  (-oinp.inion  thr<-, 

Thonll  h.i\c  ptrcli.incf  siii.dl  cheer  to  till  nic  of. 

W  ith  .1  swi  I  I   .icii  lit.  w  111  II  thou  eoinsl  to  her, 
Hriiin  ihou  in  tht m    words. 

I  irst    h.u'iii;   er.ixed   .i   •fr.ieioiis   .ludieiife: 
He   who   h.ith   sent  me  .-is   his   messenger, 
L.idy.  thus  much  records. 

An  thou  but  sutler  him.  in  liis  defence, 
i.ove,  who  conies  with  me.  hy  tliine  infiueiicc 
C.-in  m;ike  tliis  m.-in  do  .is  it  liketh  liim: 
\\  heretore,  il"  this   f.iult  is  or  doth  hut  .see»/ 

Do  thou  eoiiceivf:  for  hi-.  Iie.irt  t-.iiinot   move." 

.'^.ly  to  her  .ilsi/:  "  L.idy.  his  poor  lie.irt 
Is  so  conlirmed  in   f.iitli 

'i'h.it  .ill  its  thouj^hts  .ire  hut  of  st  rviii';  thee: 
"I'w.is  e.-irly  thine,  .ind  e  mid  not   swerve  .ip.irt. 
'riieii.  if  she  w.i\»reth. 

IJid    ill  r  .isk    l,o\t,  who  knows    il'  these  tliinn» 


Aiid   in   tin-  end,   lieu  of  her  modestly 
To  pardon  so  inueli  holdness:  saying  too: — 
If  thou  (h'cl.ire  his  de.ith  to  Ix-  lliy  i\ut\ 
'i'he  tliiiii;  sli.ill  lome  lo  p.iss,  .is  doth  licliove." 


(Drawing  4>  D.  G.  Rosstiti) 


Cljc  pctu  3Iifc 

'i'litn  |)r.iy  tliou  oJ"  tin-  M.islcr  of  all   riitii, 
lirfori-  tliou  If.ivf  lur  tiitrc, 

Tli.it  lit-   l)it"rifii(l  my  cinse  and   plead  it   well. 
"  In  ^nerdon  ot    niv  sweet   rhymes  and   my   triitli 
(I-'.ntreat   liim  )     "stay  with   her; 

Let  not  till    lio|ii'  ot' liiy  poor  Mr\  ant  tail; 
And  if  with  lirr  thy   pleading  .should   pre\ail, 
Let  her  look  on  him    ind  ;;i\e  peace  to  him.  ' 
(ienlle  my  Sonj;,  if  «rood  to  thee  it  seem, 
Do  this:  so  worship  shall  be  thine  and  love. 


This  (i'liiif  is  divided  into  three  parts.  In  the 
first,  I  tell  it  n'hither  tu  ^o,  and  I  encourage  it,  that 
it  maif  go  the  mure  confidently,  and  I  tell  it  whose 
rompanif  to  join  if  it  would  go  with  confidence  and 
willuint  any  danger.  In  the  second,  I  sat/  that 
which  it  hehorcs  the  diltif  to  set  forth.  In  the 
third.  I  give  it  lea  re  to  .\tart  when  it  pleases,  recom- 
mending its  course  to  the  arms  of  Fortune.  The 
second  part  begins  here,  "  iVith  a  sweet  accent;" 
the  third  here,  "  Gentle  my  Song."  Some  might 
contradict  me.  and  say  that  they  understand  not 
whom  I  address  in  ilie  second  person,  seeing  that 
the  ditty  is  merely  the  eery  words  I  am  speahing. 
.hid  therefore  I  say  that  this  douhl  I  intend  to  solre 
and  clear  up  in  this  little  booh  itself,  at  a  more  dif- 
ficult passage,  and  then  let  him  understand  who 
now  doubts,  or  iconld  note  contradict  as  aforesaid. 


Aftt  r  this  \  ision  i  have  reeorded.  and  having 
written  those  words  whieli  Love  had  dictated  to  me, 
I  Itefr.iii  tt)  be  harassed  with  many  and  di\tT.s 
thouglits,  by  each  of  which  I   was  surely  tempted; 


ZUc  Oflu  Hifc 

iiul  ill  (Special.  llitTi-  were  Idiir  .iiiuuiff  tlitiii  tlial 
leti  iiic  IH)  rest.  Ill»'  first  was  this:  "  ('crlaiiily  the 
lordship  of"  I,()\i-  is  «food;  siting  that  it  diverts  thi- 
mind  from  all  im  an  thin^is.  "  'I'lu-  second  was  this: 
"Certainly  tin-  lordship  of  I.ove  is  evil;  siting 
that  the  more  homaifc  his  servants  pay  to  him,  tin* 
more  grievous  and  painful  are  the  torments  wIutc- 
with  he  lornieiits  them.  "  The  third  was  this:  ""  The 
nime  of  i,o\e  is  so  sweet  in  the  heirilij;  that  it 
would  not  seem  possilile  l'or  its  etleels  to  he  other 
than  sweet;  seeinji;  that  the  name  must  needs  he 
like  unto  the  thiiiji  named;  as  it  is  written:  Xoiiiiiia 
sunt  cDiixcijin'iitKt  rcniììi."  And  the  fOurtli  was  this: 
"The  lady  whom  I.ovi'  hath  chosen  out  to  j.;o\eni 
thee  is  not  as  otlxr  ladies,  whose  he.irts  are  easily 
mo\  ed. 

And  hy  (  neh  one  ol  these  ihoULjhls  I  was  so  sorely 
assailed  that  I  was  like  unto  him  who  douhtetli 
which  ])ath  to  I  ike.  and  wishinjr  to  <;<),  goi'tli  noi. 
And  it"  I  hethoufiht  myself  to  seek  out  some  |)oiiit 
at  tlu'  which  all  these  jiatlis  mi<;ht  he  found  to  meet. 
I  di.scerncd  hut  one  way.  and  that  irked  mc  ;  to  wit, 
to  call  upon  l*ity.  and  to  commend  myself"  unto  her. 
And  it  was  till  II  that,  t"eeliiijf  a  desire  to  write  some- 
what thereof  in  rhyme.   I    wrote  this  sonnet:    - 

.Vi.i.  my  thoujrhts  always  spi-ak  to  me  «if    I.ove, 
^  et  ha\e  hetween  themselves  such  diticrcncc 
That  while  one  hids  me  how  with  mind  and  sense. 

A  second  saitli,  "  (io  to:  look  thou  ahove; 

The  third  one,  hoping,  yields  me   joy  enouf^h  ; 

And    with    the    last    come    tears.   I     scarce    know 

w  hence  : 
All  of   them  cr.iving  pity  in  sore  suspense, 

Trcmhling  with  fears  that  the  heart  knoweth  of, 

[22] 


orli  e  pcta  ilifc 

And  tims.  tifili^  ali  uiisiirc  wiiicli  |).ilh  lo  tnkc, 
\\'i.sliin^  to  speak  J  know  not  wiiat  to  say. 
And  lose  niysilt  in  amorous  w.indcrin^s  : 
Until,  (my  jieacH'  with  all  of  tlitni  to  make,) 
Unto  mine  enemy  I  needs  must  pray, 

My  Lady  Pity,  for  tlie  lielj)  she  brings. 

This  .soinict  »i<ii/  he  divided  into  four  pints.  I u 
the  first,  I  sai/  aiid  propound  tluit  all  in i/  tlioii^lits 
are  coìucriìing  Lore.  In  the  second,  I  sat/  that  thei/ 
are  diverse,  and  I  relate  their  diversitif.  In  the 
third,  I  sai/  ndicreiu  tliefj  all  seem  to  a^ree.  In  the 
fourth,  I  sai/  that,  irishing  to  speak  of  Love,  I  know 
not  from  which  of  these  thoughts  to  take  mi/  argu- 
ment; and  tiiat  if  I  ivoiild  take  it  from  idl.  I  shall 
have  to  call  upon  mine  enemij,  mi/  Lad  1/  l'iti/. 
"  Ladij,"  I  sai/,  as  in  a  scornful  mode  of  speech. 
The  second  begins  here,  "  Yet  have  between  them- 
selves; "  the  third,  ''  All  of  them  craving;  "  the 
fourth,  "  And  thus." 

After  this  battlinj;  with  many  thoughts,  it 
chanced  on  a  day  that  my  most  graeious  lady  was 
with  a  gathering  of  ladies  in  a  certain  j)lace;  to  the 
which  I  was  conducted  by  a  friend  of  mini-;  he 
thinking  to  do  me  a  great  pleasure  by  showing  me 
the  beauty  of  so  many  women.  Then  I.  hardly 
knowing  wheri'unto  he  conducted  me.  but  trusting 
in  him  (who  yet  was  leading  his  friend  to  the  last 
vergi'  of  lif"e),  made  question:  "To  what  end  are 
we  come  among  these  ladies.''"  and  he  answered: 
"  To  the  end  that  they  may  be  worthily  served." 
And  they  were  assembled  .around  a  gentlewom.an 
who  was  given  in  marriage  on  that  day;  the  custom 
of  the  city  being  th.it  thesi-  should  bear  licr  coni- 

[23] 


€Uc  j"}clii   Uilc 


p.uiy  when  slii-  sit  doun  lnr  llu  lirsl  linn-  ,il  l.ihlf 
in  tlic  house  ol"  hi  r  hiisliMid.  TlnTi-Jorr  I.  as  was 
my  friend's  phasiire,  rtsdiv  rd  to  sliy  with  him  and 
<h)  honour  to  those  laches. 

Hut  as  soon  as  I  liad  thus  resuhrd.  I  ht^an  to 
f'ci  1  a  taintness  and  a  throhhinj;  at  iny  ht't  si(h-, 
whieh  soon  took  possession  of  my  whole  hody. 
thereupon  I  rtinendxr  tliat  I  eovertly  lean«(l  my 
haek  unto  a  paintint;  tliat  r.iu  roiuid  the  walls  of 
that  house;  aiul  Iteing  tCarlul  h  st  my  treudilin;; 
should  he  discerned  of  the  ui.  I  lilted  mine  eyes  to 
look  on  those  ladies,  and  then  first  pereiivcd  amonj; 
them  the  ixeellent  Htatriee.  And  when  I  pereei\ed 
lier,  all  my  senses  were  o\ crpowered  liy  the  fjreat 
lordship  that  Love  obtained,  finding  himself  so  n«'ar 
unto  that  most  jfraeious  heinj;.  until  nothinj;  hut  the 
spirits  of  sijrht  remained  to  me;  and  e\fn  these  re- 
mained driven  out  ol  their  own  instruments  hc-eaus»- 
Love  entered  in  that  honoured  place  of  theirs,  that 
so  he  mi<j;ht  the  better  behold  her.  And  althou^rh  1 
was  other  than  at  first.  I  j;ri«ved  for  the  spirits  so 
expelled,  which  kept  up  a  sore  lament,  savin»;:  "  If 
he  had  not  in  this  wise  thrust  us  forth,  we  also 
should  behold  the  marvel  of  this  lady.  "  Hy  this, 
m  any  of  lnr  I  rit  nds.  Iia\  in<;  discerned  my  confu 
sion,  be^an  to  wondtr;  ind  toi;etlier  with  herself", 
kept  whis|)erinf;  of  me  and  mockiui;  me.  W'here- 
upiui  my  friend,  who  knew  not  what  to  conceixc. 
took  me  by  the  hands,  and  drawin<;  me  forth  from 
amonj;  them.  re(|uiri(l  to  know  what  ailed  m«'.  Then, 
havinir  first  held  me  <]uiet  for  a  space  until  my  ])er- 
cej)tions  were  comi'  I'.iek  to  me.  I  made  answer  to  my 
friend:  "  Of  a  sun  (y  I  h.i\c  now  set  my  feet  on  that 
point  of  lit)  .  1)1  yond  the  which  he  umst  not  pass 
who  would   n  I  ui'H.  ' 


Cl)c  peto  llifc 

Afterwards,  Icavirif;  Jiiin,  I  went  hack  to  the  room 
where  I  had  wept  before;  and  again  weeping  and 
ashamed,  said:  "  If  this  lady  hut  knew  of  my  con- 
dition. I  do  not  think  that  she  woidd  thus  moek  at 
me;  nay,  I  am  sure  tliat  she  must  tieeds  feel  some 
pity.  "  And  in  my  weepi.ig  I  hethought  me  to  write 
eertain  words,  in  the  whieh,  speaking  to  her,  I 
should  signify  the  (leeasion  of  my  distìgurement,  tell- 
ing her  also  how  I  knew  that  she  had  noiknowledge 
thereof:  whieh,  if  it  were  known.  I  was  certain  must 
move  others  to  ])ity.  .Viid  th(  n.  because  I  hoped 
that  peradventure  it  might  eonir  into  her  hearing,  I 
wrote  this  sonnet: — 

Even  as  the  others  moek,  thou  moekest  me; 
Not  dreaming,  noble  lady,  whence  it  is 
That  I  am  taken  with  strange  semblances, 
Seeing  tliy  face  whieh  is  so  fair  to  see: 
For  else,  compassion  would  not  suffer  thee 

To   grieve   my   licart   with   such   harsh   scoffs   as 

tinse. 
Lo  I  Love,  when  thou  art  present,  sits  at  ease, 
And  bears  his  m.-istership  so  mightily. 
That  all  my  troubled  senses  he  thrusts  out, 
Son  ly  tormenting  some,  and  slaying  some. 
Till  none  but  he  is  left  and  has  free  range 
To    gaze    on    thee.     This    makes    my    face    te 
change 
Into  another's;  while   1    stind  .ill  dunili. 
And  hear  my  senses  clamour  in  thiir  rout. 

This  sonnet  I  divide  not  into  parts,  Itecause  a  di- 
vision is  onlji  made  to  open  the  tneaning  of  the  thinfj 
divided:  and  tiiis,  as  it  is  stifjicientlif  manifest 
throK<ih  the  reasons  nircn,  has  no  need  of  division. 

L^5J 


Zf\c  4i>fUi   Uiff 

'Iriif  it  is  thill,  (IiiikI  tin-  ironls  irlirrrhi/  i.s  .\li(nrti 
tlir  otuii.sioti  (if  this  sdiiiut,  ihihiiiiix  inird.s  arc  to  he 
foiiiiil;  iKiiiicli/,  ii'ìifìi  I  snif  that  Liivi-  Kills  all  my 
spirits,  hut  that  tlw  visual  remain  in  life,  onlii  out- 
side of  their  men  instruments.  Anil  this  difjieultif 
it  is  impossihle  for  iiiiif  to  sot  re  trho  is  not  in  etjual 
guise  liei;e  unto  Lore;  (iinl,  to  those  trho  are  so,  that 
is  manifest  which  iroiild  clear  up  the  duhious  words. 
And  therefore  it  trere  not  well  for  me  to  expound 
this  difficult  If,  inasmuch  as  mif  speaking  would  he 
either  fniillcxs  or  else  superfluous. 

A  wliilc  .■il't«'r  this  str;inf;c  (lisfifjtiniiicnt.  I  liccaiiir 
possrsscd  witli  .1  strotii;  «•oiu-cptioii  wliicli  left  inr  but 
very  sclddni,  .ukI  tlnii  to  nlurii  cjiiickly.  And  it  was 
tiiis:  "S(  (iiijr  tli.it  tlioii  CDiiicst  into  siu'li  scorn  hv 
tli<  (•<iiii|).iiii()nslii|)  of  this  h'ldy,  whcrrforr  srrkrst 
thou  to  liihokl  hrr?  It"  she  shoiihl  .isk  thee  this 
thiiifj,  what  aiiswiT  coiddst  thou  make  unto  her? 
yc.i.  t  veil  thoujfh  thou  wcrt  mastir  of  .ill  thy  faciil- 
tiis,  .iiid  in  no  w.ay  hindt-red  from  answi-rinj;.  " 
Unto  the  which,  .inother  very  humble  thought  said 
in  reply:  "  III  were  in.istiT  of  all  my  faculties,  and 
in  IK!  way  hiiidrnd  Iroin  .■insw«TÌn{j.  I  would  tell 
her  that  no  sooiur  do  I  iin.i^c  to  myself  her  marvel- 
lous be.-iuty  th.iii  I  iin  possessed  with  .i  desire  to 
bt>hold  her,  the  which  is  of  so  gre.it  strengtii  tli.it  it 
kills  .111(1  destroy-,  in  my  memory  .ill  those  things 
which  niiglit  oppose  it;  .ind  it  is  therefore  that  the 
grt-.it  .iiigiiish  1  Ii.iM'  endured  therein'  is  yet  not 
enough  to  restriiii  im  Irom  seeking  to  beludd  her.' 
And  tluii,  liec.iuse  of  these  thoughts.  I  n-solvcd  to 
writi-  soinewli.it.  wherein,  having  pU-.uhd  mine  ex- 
cuse, I  should  tell  li«r  of  what  I  fell  in  lirr  presence. 
Whereupon  1  wrote  this  sonnet: — 


Zì)c  j^ctu  ilifc 

TiiK  tlioii^lits  art'  broken  in  niy  nicinory, 

'l'IiDii  l(i\i-ly  Joy,  wlniu'tr  I  sic  tliy  tace; 

\\'lirii  tliou  art  near  ine.  Love  fills  up  the  space, 
Ot'ti-n  rcpe/itiii^.  "If  death  irk  tine.  fly.  ' 
My  face  shows  my  heart  s  colour,  vtrily, 

\\'lii(li.  faiiititijj.  seeks  for  any  leaninj^-place; 

Till,  in  the  drunken  terror  of  disfjrace. 
The  very  stones»  seem  to  he  shrieking,  "Die!" 
It  were  a  j^rievous  sin,  if  one  should  not 

Strive  tluii  to  comtort  my  hewildered  mind 
(  Thou<rh  meitly  with  a  simple  pitying;) 
lor  the  jrreat  an<iuish  which  thy  scorn  has  wrouf^ht 

In  the  (had  si<r|it  o'  tin-  eyes  grown  nearly  hiind, 
A\'hich  look  for  death  as  for  a  blessed  thin^r. 

This  sonnet  is  divided  into  iivo  parts.  In  the 
first,  I  tell  I  ill-  ((iiise  ivhij  I  abstain  not  from 
coniinii  to  this  ladi/.  In  the  second,  I  tell  trhat 
heftdls  nie  throiiiih  coining  to  her;  and  this  part  he- 
gins  here,  "  Jf'hen  thou  art  near."  And  also  this 
second  part  diviiles  into  fire  distinct  statentents. 
lor,  in  the  first,  I  sai/  irhat  Lure,  connsetlcd  hi/ 
lieason,  tells  nic  irlicn  I  am  near  the  ladi/.  In  the 
second,  I  set  forili  the  state  of  mi/  heart  l>i/  the 
e.ramj)le  of  the  face.  In  the  third,  I  sai/  ìioir  all 
ground  of  trust  fails  me.  In  the  fourth,  I  sai/  that 
lie  sins  n'ho  shon-s  not  pit  1/  of  nic,  irhieii  ironici  gire 
me  some  comfort.  In  the  last,  I  sai/  irhi/  people 
should  take  piti/:  nameli/,  for  the  piteous  look 
iviiich  comes  into  mine  ei/es;  irhicli  jiitcoiis  looh  is 
deslroi/ed,  that  is,  apjicarcth  not  unto  others, 
through  the  jecriiii^  of  this  ladi/,  nho  drairs  to  the 
like  action  those  irho  peradrentiire  would  sec  this 
piteousness.  The  second  part  licgins  here,  "  Mi/ 
face    shuH's;  "    the    third,  "  Till,  in    the    drunken 

L  -^  -  J 


ZUc  Oflii  Hifc 

frrror;  "  llir  iDiirlli,  "  Il   mrr  ti  arirvDus  sin;  "  the 
jiftii.  "  liir  till-  ibridi  tiniiiii.sli." 

l'Ili  r<. it  t(r.  this  sdimtt  In  d  in  nn'  di  siri  li>  writr 
down  ill  \  I  rsi  lour  ullicr  things  tmicliiiig  mv  con- 
(litiiiM.  llir  which  thiii;;s  it  sriiiird  to  ine  tli.it  I  h.id 
imt  \  it  in.idi-  iii.iiiil  ist.  Thi-  first  .iiiioiig  tin  sc  w.is 
thr  grill'  th.it  possissid  iiir  \iry  ulti  ii.  riiii(iiil)«T- 
iiig  the  str.ingiiiiss  which  I,o\c  wrought  in  mc  ;  tlic 
second  W.IS.  how  I,o\c  ni.iny  limes  .iss-iilcd  nic  so 
suddenly  .ind  with  such  strength  fli.it  I  li.id  no  other 
life  reiii.iiliing  except  .1  thought  which  sp.ike  of  niv 
1  idy;  the  third  w.is.  iiow  .  when  I.o\e  did  battle  witli 
n.»'  in  this  wise.  I  would  rise  up  .ill  colourless,  it  so  I 
iniglit  see  my  l.idy.  concei\  ing  that  the  siglit  of  her 
would  defend  me  .ig.iinst  th«-  assault  of  Love,  .and 
.iltogelher  forgetting  that  which  her  presence 
hrought  unto  me;  and  the  fourth  w.is.  how.  when 
I  s.iw  her,  the  sight  not  only  defen<l»'d  nic  not,  hut 
took  .iw.iy  the  little  life  tli.it  rem.iined  to  me.  And 
I   slid  lli(  sr  lour  tilings  in  ,i  soiinrl.  wliieli  is  this; — 

At  whiles  ( yi'.i  oftentimes)  I  muse  ov«t 

The  <ni.dity  of  .anguish  tli.at  is  mine 

riiniiigh   I,o\e:  then  pity  iii.ikfs  my  \oice  to  pine. 
Saying,    "  Is  .any  else  thus,  any  when? 
Love  smitcth  me.  whose  strength  is  ill  to  he.ar; 

So  that  of  .ill  my  life  is  left  no  sign 

Exc«'))t  one  thought  ;  .and  th.at.  hccause  'tis  thine. 
Leaves  not  the  hody  hut  .altideth  there. 
And  then  if  I,  whom  other  .aid  forsook, 

\\'ould  .lid  myself,  .and  innocant  of  art 

\\'ould  fain  have  sight  of  thee  as  a  last  hope. 
No  sooner  do  1  lift  mine  eyes  to  look 

Than  the  blood  seems  .as  shaken  from  my  heart, 
And  .all  my  pulses  beat  at  once  and  stop. 

[28] 


€f)c  |[>cU)  ilifc 

This  sonnet  /.v  (liridcd  into  jOnr  parts,  four  tliim^s 
beiii^  therein  narrated;  and  as  these  are  set  forth 
above,  I  onlij  proceed  to  distiniinisli  tiic  parts  hif 
their  he<!;inniniis.  If'herefore  I  sai/  that  the  second 
part  begins,  "  Love  sniitelh  me;"  the  third,  "  And 
then  if  I  ;  "  the  fourth,  "  Xo  sooner  do  I  lift." 

Ail»  T  I  li.id  wrilUii  illese  three  List  soimels 
wlierein  I  spake  unto  my  l.uly,  telliii»;  lier  almost 
tlic  whole  ot"  my  eoiidition.  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
shoidd  he  silent,  ha\  inj;-  s.iid  (  nouyii  eo!ic»rninf^ 
inyselt".  But  alheit  I  spake  not  to  hir  ai;aiii.  yet  it 
behoved  nie  afterward  to  write  of  aiiotlu-r  matter, 
more  nohle  than  tlie  fore<roinf]f.  And  for  that  the 
oeeasion  of  what  I  tlnii  wrote  may  be  fciund  jileas- 
ant  in  tin-  heariiii;-,  I  will  relati'  it  ;is  brietìy  as 
i  may. 

'rhrou<>h  the  sore  ehan<ie  in  mine  aspeet,  the 
seeret  of  my  heart  was  now  understood  of  many. 
\\  hieli  thiiij;  heinu'  thus,  there  came  a  dav  when 
certain  ladies  to  whom  it  was  well  known  (they 
havintif  been  with  me  at  divers  times  in  my  troubh) 
M'ere  met  to<fether  for  the  pleasur»-  of  p-ntle  com- 
pany. And  as  1  was  ^oiii^  that  way  by  ehanee, 
(but  I  think  rather  by  the  will  of  fortune.)  I  heard 
one  of  them  call  unto  me.  ;ind  she  that  called  was 
a  l;lfdy  of  very  sweet  speech.  And  when  I  hid  come 
close  up  with  them,  and  perceived  that  tin  y  had  not 
ainon<r  them  mine  excellent  lady,  I  w;is  rea.ssured  ; 
and  saluted  them,  asking;  of  their  pleasure.  The 
ladies  were  many;  divers  of  whom  were  laughing 
one  to  another,  while  divers  gazed  at  me  as  though 
I  should  speak  anon.  Hut  when  I  still  spake  not, 
one  of  them,  who  before  had  been  talking  with  an- 
other, addressed  me  l)v  my  name,  saying,  "  To  what 


ZUc  pelli  IMff 

i-nd  loM  si  tlidii  tliis  l.idy,  .scciiii^  tli.il  llioii  I'.iii.st  not 
support  licr  prcstncc.'  Now  tell  us  this  tiling,  that 
\v(  iii.iy  know  it:  for  ctrtiiiily  the  trid  of  such  a 
lt)\r  iniisl  li  worthy  nl'  kiiowh-d^rc."  And  when  shr 
had  spoken  Ihcst  words,  not  she  only.  I)iit  all  tluv 
that  wtrr  with  lur.  l)tj;an  to  o1)s«t\c  inc.  waiting 
tor  my  reply.  Whereupon  I  said  thus  unto  thrin: — 
"Ladies,  till  end  and  aim  ol  m\  l,o\f  was  hut  the 
salutation  of  ihit  lady  of  u  Imni  I  eoMeei\f  that  ve 
are  speakinir;  wherein  aloni  I  foMiid  that  heatitnch- 
whic'li  is  the  goal  of  desire.  .\nd  now  that  it  h.ath 
pleased  her  to  deny  me  this.  I,o\e.  my  Master,  of 
his  great  goodness,  h.ilh  pl.iced  all  my  heatitude 
there  where  my  hope  will  not  fail  me."  'I'hen  those 
ladies  began  to  talk  closely  together;  and  as  I  have 
seen  snow  fall  among  the  rain,  so  was  their  talk 
mingled  with  sighs.  Jiut  after  a  little,  that  lady 
who  had  heen  the  first  to  address  me.  addressed  me 
again  in  these  words:  "  W'v  prsix  thee  that  thou  wilt 
tell  us  wherein  ahidetli  this  thy  heatitude."  .\nd 
answering.  I  said  hut  thus  murli:  "  In  those  words 
that  do  j)raise  my  lady."  Id  the  which  she  re- 
joined: "  If  thy  speech  were  true,  those  words  that 
thou  did  t  write  concerning  thy  condition  would 
have  been  written  with  another  intent." 

Tlien  I,  being  almost  put  to  shame  because  of 
her  answer,  went  out  from  among  thiin;  and  as 
I  walked,  I  said  within  myself:  "  Seeing  that  there 
is  so  nuich  beatituth-  in  those  words  which  do  jiraisc 
my  lady,  wherefore  hath  my  speech  of  her  been 
different.'"  And  then  I  rcsohed  that  thencefor- 
ward I  \M>'.iId  elioosi-  for  the  theme  of  my  writings 
onl\  till  praise  of  this  most  gracious  being.  But 
whiM  I  had  thought  exceedingly,  it  .seemed  to  nic 
that   I  liad  taken  to  myself  a  theme  which  was  much 

L  -it)  J 


ti)t  0c\M  il  iff 

too  lofty,  so  tli.it  I  (l.in  (1  not  hc^iii  ;  and  I  remained 
during  several  days  in  tlic  desire  ot  spiaking,  and 
the  f'e.-ir  ot"  beginning.  After  which  it  happened, 
as  I  passed  one  day  along  a  jiath  which  lay  beside 
a  stream  of  very  clear  water,  th.it  there  came  u))on 
me  a  great  desire  to  say  somewhat  in  rhyme:  but 
when  I  began  thinking  how  I  should  say  it,  me- 
t bought  that  to  speak  of  her  were  unseemly  unless 
I  spoke  to  other  ladies  in  the  second  ))erson  ;  which 
is  to  say,  not  to  (iiiy  other  ladies,  but  only  to  such 
as  are  so  called  beeausi-  they  are  gentle,  let  alone 
for  mere  womanhood.  \\'iiereupon  I  declare  that 
my  tongue  sjiake  as  though  by  its  own  impulse,  and 
said,  "  Ladies  that  h.ive  intelligence  in  love."  These 
words  I  laid  up  in  my  mind  with  great  gladness, 
conceiving  to  take  them  as  my  commencement. 
Wherefore,  having  returned  to  the  city  I  sjiake  of, 
and  considered  thereof  during  etrtain  days,  I  began 
a  poem  with  this  beginning,  eonstrueted  in  the 
mode  which  will  be  seen  below  in  its  division.  The 
poem  begins  here  :— 

Laoiks  that  have  intelligence  in  love, 

Of  n.ine  own  lady  1  would  s|)eak  with  you; 
Not  tiiat   I   liope  to  count  her  j)raises  through, 
Hut  telling  what  I  may,  to  ease  my  mind. 
An(1  I  declare  that  when   I   speak  thereof. 
Love  sheds  such  perfect  sweetiuss  over  me 
That  if  uiy  courage  failed  not.  certainly 
To  him  my  listi'ners  must  be  all  resign'd 
Wherefore  I  will  not  speak  in  such  large  kind 
That  mine  own   six-ech  should   foil   me.  whieh   were 

base  ; 
But  only  will  discourse  of  her  high  grace 

In  these  poor  words,  the  best  that  1  can  lind, 

Lai  J 


>riìc  pcU)  ìiifc 

^^'illl  you  .iloiic,  dear  (liiin  ^  .iikI  dinut/ils  : 
"l'utTc    ili    ti)   s|)iik    lliiTtol    willi    .HIV   risi'. 

Ali   Alluci,  of  iiis  lìltssrd  knowli'd^f,  s.iitli 

To   (iod:    "Lord,    in    tlic    world    that    Tliou    hast 

III  idc, 
A  iiiir.iflf  in  action  is  displax  "d. 

Hy  reason  ot  a  soul  whose  splindmirs  lare 
K\tii  liitlier:  and  since  Heaven  re(|uiretli 

Nought  s.ivinjr  her,  for  lur  it  prayeth  'l'hce, 
Thy  Saints  crvini;  aloud  continu.illy.  ' 

Wt   l'ity  stili  defends  our  earthly  share 
In    that    sweet    soul;    (  lod    aiiswi  riiit;    thus    the 
])rayer  : 
"  Mv   well-beloved,  sufi'»  r  liial  in  peace 
^  tuir  hope  remain,  while  so   My   pleasure  is, 

Tlure  where  oiu'  dwells  who  dreads  the  loss  of 
h.r: 
And  will)  ill  IIill  unto  the  doomed  shall  say, 
'  I     lia\e    looked    on    that    for    which    (lod's    elwisen 
|)ray." 

My  lady  is  desired  in  the  lii^rli  Ileavin: 
iVIurtfurc,  it  now  hehoveth  me  to  tell. 
Savin"':  Let  anv  maid  that  would  he  well 

* 

I'steemed  keep  with  her:  for  as  she  goes  by, 
Into  foul  hearts  a  deathly  chill  is  driven 

Hy   l,o\f,  that  m.akes  ill  thoujjcht  to  perish  there: 
While  any  who  endures  to  «raze  on  her 

Must  either  be  ennobled,  or  else  die. 

When  one  deserx  inij  to  be  r.iised  so  hij^h 
Is  found,  'tis  then  her  power  att.iins  its  proof. 
M.akinir  his  heart  slron-r  for  his  soul's  behoof 

With  the  lull  strength  of  meek  humility. 
Also  this  virtue  owns  she,  by  (iod's  will: 
\\\m  sj)e.iks  with   her  e.in  niver  come  to  ill. 

L  -^^  J 


€t\c  j^cUj  ilifc 

Love  s.iitli  coiict  Tiiiiiir  liir:    "  How  cli.iiicttli  it 

Tli.'it    Hrsli.  wliic'li    is    of    dust,  should     hf    thus 

j)urf .' 
Then,  gaziiij^  always,  lie  makes  oatli:  "  Forsure, 
This  is  a  creature  of  God  till  now  unknown." 
Slie  hath  that  jialcness  of  the  pearl  that's  fit 
In  a  fair  woman,  so  much  and  not  more; 
She  is  as  hi^h  as  Nature's  skill  ean  soar; 
Heauty  is  tried   hy  her  eomparison. 
\\'hatev<r  her  sweet  eyes  are  turned  u])on. 
Spirits  of  love  do  issue  thence  in  Hame, 
NN'hicii   through   their  eyes  who  then   may   look  on 
them 
Pi<'rce  to  the  heart's  deej)  chamber  every  one. 
And  in  her  smile  Love's  image  you  may  see; 
Whence  none  can  ga/e  u])oti  her  steadfastly. 

Dear  .Song,  I  know  thou  wilt  hold  gentle  s])eech 
\\"i\.\i  many  ladies,  when   1   send  thee  forth: 
\\'l)eret"ore    (heing   mindful    that    thou    hadst   thy 
hirth 
rrom  Love,  and  art  a  modist,  simple  child), 
Whomso  thou  mectest,  say  thou  this  to  each: 
"  Give  me  good  speed  !      To  lit  r  I  wend  along 
In   whose   much   strength    my    we.ikness    is    made 

strong.  " 
*     And  if,  i'  tile  end,  thou  wouldst  not  he  beguiled 
Of  all  thy  labour,  se.k  not  the  defiled 
\nd  common  sort;  but  rather  choose  to  be 
Where  man  and  woman  dwell   in  courtesy. 

.So  to  the  road  thou  shalt  be  r» coiiciled. 
And  find  the  lady,  and  with  tin  1  idy.  l.o\c. 
Commend  thou  me  to  each,  as  doth  behovf. 

'J'liis  poem,  that   it    iiiai/  /;<•   hrtlcr  inuicr stood,  I 
will  divide  more  suhtli/  than   the  others  preecding; 

L  '33  ] 


ZÌK  j"?cUi   Uiff 


(imi  tlirit'l Dif  J  Hill  iiuihr  ttim-  jtnil.s  tif  il.  J'tit 
first  pari  ìs  a  proriii  tu  tlw  ivords  fitllairiiiii.  'J'Iic 
sfcoiitl  ix  tìic  nidttrr  treated  of.  Tlw  third  is,  as 
it  H't-rr,  a  haiidiiiaid  in  the  precedili fj  words.  The 
second  hciiins  here.  "  .In  .lu<rel;"  the  third  here, 
Ditir  Soiiic,  i  hiioir."  The  first  part  is  divided 
into  four.  In  the  first,  I  saij  to  ivliom  I  mean  to 
spealt  of  nil/  lad  if,  and  irherefore  I  trill  so  speak. 
In  the  second,  I  saif  what  she  appears  to  mi/self 
to  he  irheii  I  reflect  upon  her  cicellenee,  and  what 
I  iroiild  iitlcr  if  I  lost  not  conrane.  In  the  third, 
I  sail  irlidt  it  is  I  purpose  to  speak  so  as  not  to  he 
impeded  hi/  faintheartedness.  In  the  fourth,  re- 
peating to  whom  I  purpose  speal,iii<r,  I  tell  the 
reason  whi/  I  speah-  to  them.  'The  second  hc^ins 
here,  "  .Ind  I  declare;"  the  third  here,  "  ll'here^ 
fore  I  will  not  speah;  "  the  fourth  here,  "  Jf'ith 
ifou  alone."  Then,  tehen  I  saif  "  .In  .Innel,"  I  he- 
irin  treat  in  ir  of  this  ladi/:  and  this  part  is  divided 
into  two.  In  the  first,  I  tell  nlnil  is  understood  of 
her  in  heaven.  In  the  second,  I  tell  what  is  under- 
stood of  her  on  carili:  here.  "  .M if  ladif  is  desired." 
This  second  part  is  divided  into  two;  for,  in  the 
first,  I  speak-  of  her  as  re>rards  the  nohleness  of  her 
soul,  relating  some  of  her  virtues  proceedin>i  from 
her  soul  ;  in  the  second,  I  speak  of  her  as  regards 
the  nohleness  of  her  hodif,  narratinir  some  of  her 
heauties:  here,  "  Lai'c  stiilli  concerninir  her."  'This 
second  pari  is  divided  into  tiro,  for,  in  the  first,  I 
speak  of  certain  heauties  which  helong  to  the  ivlnde 
person;  in  the  second,  I  speak  of  certain  heauties 
which  hclong  to  a  distinct  part  of  the  jierson  :  here, 
"  IVhatever  her  sweet  ei/es."  'This  second  part  is 
divided  into  two;  for,  in  the  one,  I  speak  of  the 
eyes,  which  are  the  he<rinning  of  love;  in  the  sec- 

I  in  1 


Z\)c  pfU)  ilifc 

Olid,  I  .sj)f<ik  of  till-  nioutli,  iriiirli  is  tlif  end  of  love. 
And  that  cieri/  licions  thought  nidif  be  discarded 
here  from,  let  the  reader  reineiiiher  that  it  is  ahove 
written  that  the  greeting  of  tliis  ladi/,  irhich  was 
an  act  of  her  mouth,  was  the  goal  of  mij  desires, 
while  I  could  receive  it.  Then,  when  I  sai/,  "  Dear 
Song,  I  know,"  I  add  a  stanza  as  it  were  handmaid 
to  the  otiiers,  iriierein  I  sai/  what  I  desire  from  this 
mi/  poem.  And  because  this  last  part  is  easy  to 
understand,  I  trouble  not  mi/self  tritìi  more  di- 
visions. I  sai/,  indeed,  tiiat  the  further  to  open  the 
meaning  of  this  poem,  more  minute  divisions  ought 
to  be  used;  but  nevertheless  he  who  is  not  of  wit 
enough  to  understand  it  by  these  ivhich  iiave  been 
al  read  1/  made  is  welcome  to  leave  it  alone;  for 
certes,  I  fear  I  have  communicated  its  sense  to  too 
mani/  bi/  these  present  divisions,  if  it  so  happened 
that   muiiji  should  hear  it. 

When  this  son»'-  was  ,i  little  gone  abroad,  a  certain 
one  of  my  friends,  hearing  the  same,  was  pleased  to 
question  me.  that  1  should  tell  him  what  thing  lose 
is;  it  may  he.  eoneiav  ing  from  the  words  tiius  heard 
a  hope  of  me  hivoiid  my  desert.  \\  liertfore  I. 
thinking  that  after  sueh  discourse  it  were  well  to 
saj^  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  Love,  and  also  in 
accordance  with  my  friend's  desire,  |)roposed  to 
myself  to  write  certain  words  in  the  which  1  should 
treat  of  this  .argument.  And  the  soiniel  th.it  I  then 
made  is  this: — 

LovK  and  the  genti»-  heart  are  on»-  s.inie  thing, 
Kven  as  the  wise  man  in  his  ditty  s.iith: 
K.ieh,  of  itstll.  would   lie  sueh   lit  e   in  de.ith 

As  rutionul  soul  bereft  of  re.ismiing. 

L  •i-^>  J 


ZUc  pfUi   Ulte 

"lis    Nature  Miakis  llicin   wIhm   she   l<i\is:   a  kiii^ 
I.()\c  is,  wliosr  |)  ilact    will n    lie  so jouriictll 
Is  (all((l  tilt    III  art;  tin  r<    draws  lie  <iui«t  Itrcatli 
At    lirst.   witli   l)rii  t'  or   l<tiii;tT  slmiilMTiiif;. 
I'luii    Ixaiity   stali    ill   \irtiioiis   woinaiikiiid 

\\  ill  make  the  (V<  s  desire,  and  tliroii<r|i  tlie  heart 
.'^eiid  the  desiring  of  the  eyes  again; 
\\  liert    ol  ten   it  ahidis  so  lonj;  eiishrin'd 

That  l.ove  at  len/rth  out  of"  his  sleep  will  start. 
And  women  feel  the  same  for  worthy  men. 

Titi.s  .sonnet  i.s  (iividcd  into  two  parts.  In  tite  Jir.st, 
I  .'<pf(ik  of  him  according  to  his  power.  In  the  sec- 
ond, I  speak  of  him  according  as  his  potver  trans- 
lates itself  into  act.  The  second  part  l>egins  here, 
"  Then  beanti/  seen."  'The  first  is  divided  into  two. 
Ill  the  first,  I  sai/  in  irJiat  snl>ject  this  power  e.rists. 
In  the  second,  I  sai/  hoir  this  snhject  and  this  power 
are  produced  toi^cthcr,  and  iiow  the  one  regards  the 
other,  (IS  form  docs  matter.  'The  siuoiid  liegins 
here,  "  'Tis  \atnrc."  Afterwards  when  I  sai/, 
"  'Then  beanti/  seen  in  rirlnoiis  womankind,"  I  sai/ 
how  this  power  translates  itself  into  act;  and,  first, 
flow  it  so  translates  itself  in  a  man,  then  how  it  so 
translates  itself  in  a  iroman:  here,  "  And  ivomen 
feel." 

Having  treated  of  love  in  the  foregoing,  it  ap- 
peared to  me  that  I  should  also  say  something  in 
praise  of  my  lady,  wherein  it  might  he  set  forth 
how  love  manifested  itself  when  produced  by  Ikt; 
and  how  not  only  she  eoidd  awaken  it  where  it  sli-pt. 
hut  where  it  was  not  she  could  marvellously  ert-ate 
it.  To  the  which  t  ud  I  wrote  another  sonnet:  and 
it  is  this  : — 

[36] 


Cftc  pcU)  ilifc 

Mv  lady  cirrics  lovt-  witliin  lur  tve.s; 

All  that  she  looks  on  is  made  plcasanter  ; 

L'pon  her  ]);ith  iiicn  turn  to  jjaze  at  her; 
He  whom  she  greettth  feels  his  heart  to  rise, 
And  (lroo])s   his  trouhlcd  visage,  full  of  siglis, 

And  of  his  evil  heart  is  then  aware: 

Hate  loves,  and  j)ride  beeomes  a  worshi))])tr. 
()  women,  help  to  praise  her  in  somewise. 
Humbleness,  and  the  hope  that  hoj)eth  well, 

IJy  speech  of  hers  into  the  mind  are  brought, 
And  who  beholds  is  blessed  oftenwhiles. 
'J'hi-  look  she  hath  when  she  a  little  smiles 

Cannot  be  said,  nor  holden  in  the  thought; 
'Tis  sueh  a  new  and  gracious  miracle. 

7'iiis  sonnet  lias  three  sections.  In  tiic  first ,  I  sai/ 
ìiow  this  ladii  brings  this  ponwr  into  action  hif  tiiose 
most  noble  features,  her  eifes;  and,  in  tiie  third,  I 
sat/  this  same  as  to  that  most  noble  feature,  her 
moutJi.  And  between  these  two  sections  is  a  little 
section,  which  ashs,  as  it  were,  help  for  the  previous 
Hvction,  and  the  subsequent  ;  and  it  begins  here,  "  0 
women,  help."  The  third  begins  here,  '"  Humble- 
ness." The  first  is  divided  into  three;  for,  in  the 
first,  I  saij  hair  she  with  power  makes  noble  that 
which  she  looks  upon;  and  this  is  as  much  as  to  sai/ 
that  she  brings  Love,  in  power,  thither  where  he  is 
not.  In  the  second,  I  sai/  how  she  brings  Love,  in 
act,  into  the  iiearts  of  all  those  whom  she  sees.  In 
the  third,  I  tell  what  she  afterwards,  with  virtue, 
operates  upon  their  hearts.  The  second  begins, 
Upon  her  path  ;  "  the  third,  "  lie  n-hom  she  greet- 
eth."  Then,  when  I  sai/,  "  ()  women,  help,"  I  inti- 
mate to  whom  it  is  mi/  intention  to  speak,  calling  on 
women  to  help  me  to  honour  her.    'Then,  when  I  sai/ 


«riir   Orili   Ulte 

If  Kiiihlrnr.ss,"  I  sui/  tlutt  suini-  ii  liu  h  is  xaid  in  tlie 
first  pttit,  rciiardiiiii  tira  nets  of  lirr  mouth,  otif 
trlirrrof  is  lirr  ìnost  sirrrt  spvvrh,  aiid  tin-  iitlirr  her 
iniirvrlloiis  smili-.  Olili/,  t  saif  not  iif  this  last  hair 
it  DjH-nitis  upon  thf  hearts  of  others,  heeause 
iiieiiiurif  tauitot  retain  this  smile,  nor  its  operation. 

Not  many  d.-iys  .irtcr  this  (it  luinj^  the  will  of  tlir 
most  llij^li  (iod.  wild  .liso  troni  Ilinisclf  put  not 
.iw.iy  (Ic.itli).  tlic  I'.itluT  ot"  wondirfiil  Hi-ilricr.  ^o- 
in<r  iMit  of  this  life,  p.isscd  crrtiinly  into  jih)ry. 
'I'hcnliy  it  h.ippt  in(l.  .is  «if  very  sooth  it  niijrht  not 
lie  oth«r\visc.  th.il  this  l.idy  w.is  ni.idi-  full  of  thf 
hitt»Tnrss  of  irri<  1':  s(  tin;;  th.it  siuh  .i  |>;irtin^  is 
wry  i;rir\()iis  unto  thus»-  friiiids  who  .irr  left,  .ind 
th.it  no  uthi  r  frii  ii(|shi|i  is  like  to  th.il  Ixtwccn  .-i 
/.rood  p.irrnt  .iiid  .1  <x,iifn\  child;  .ind  I  nrthcrniort"  f«)n- 
sidirin^  th.it  tliis  hidy  w.is  p)od  in  thf  snpninc  df- 
f^rtr,  and  her  f.ithtr  (.is  hy  ni.iny  it  h.ith  hicn  trnlv 
■•iv«Tr«'d  )  of  cxfcfdinjf  ^oochitss.  And  Ixcitis»-  it  is 
th«'  usa<r<-  of  th.it  fity  th.it  nun  nu  it  with  mcti  in 
.sufh  a  f^riff,  .and  women  witli  wonun,  ctrtain  hidit-s 
of  \\vr  comp.anionship  gathered  themst-lvrs  unto 
Hi-.atricc.  whtrr  she  kept  .doni-  in  her  weepiiifj:  and 
.IS  thiv  p.issrd  in  .and  out.  I  eoidd  he.ir  them  speak 
eoneirnini;  her.  how  slie  wept.  .\t  h-nj^th  two  of 
tliein  went  hy  me,  who  s.aid  :  "  Cert.iinly  sh<-  jfriev«-th 
in  such  sort  th.at  one  mi;.^ht  die  for  pity.  hehoKiing 
Ikt.  I'hcn.  feelinjr  the  tc.irs  ii|)on  my  f.ace,  I  put 
up  my  h.inds  to  hide  them:  .and  h.ad  it  not  been  tliat 
I  hopid  to  he.ir  more  concerning  her  (seeing  th.at 
where  I  s.it.  her  friends  p.issed  contiiuially  in  .anil 
out  I.  I  shouhl  .issiirtiily  h.ive  gone  therua-  to  he 
.ihine.  when  I  fell  the  tears  come,  liul  .as  I  still  sat 
in    that    place,  cerl.iin   l.adiivs  .ag.iin   p.assed   near  ilio. 

[3«J 


wJio  w«Tr  saying  aiiiDn^  tli«iiis<l\  «s  :  "  \\  liicli  of  us 
sli.ill  Ih-  joyful  any  uiorc,  who  liavc  lisltind  to  tliis 
ladv  in  iicr  piteous  sorrow?'  And  thcrc  w«tc 
others  who  said  .is  th<y  w<ril  hy  me:  "  He  tliat  sit- 
tilh  lierr  could  not  weep  more  il  lie  had  liclield  In  r 
as  we  ha\c  beheld  her;"  and  a;j;ain  :  "  lie  is  so 
altered  that  hv  scenici  li  noi  as  liiniseH.  "  And  still 
as  tln'  ladies  passed  to  and  fro.  I  coidd  hear  llii^in 
speak  after  this  fashion  of  her  and  of  me. 

A\'her<fore  afterwards,  having  considered  and 
p«rceivin<j  that  there  was  herein  matter  for  poesy, 
1  resolved  that  I  would  write  certain  rhymes  in  the 
which  should  he  contained  all  that  those  ladies  had 
said.  And  Ik caiisc  I  would  willingly  h.a\c  spoken  to 
them  if  it  had  not  lieen  for  discreetness.  1  made  in 
my  rhymes  as  though  I  had  spok(  ii  and  they 
had  answered  me.  And  thereof  I  wrote  two  son- 
nets; in  the  first  of  which  I  addressed  them  as  I 
would  fain  ha\f  done;  and  in  tin-  second  related 
their  answer.  usin<.r  tin-  speech  that  I  had  heard 
from  them,  as  thouj^h  it  had  heen  sjxikeii  unto  tuy- 
self.     And  the  sonnets  arc  these: — - 


I. 


Vol    that  thus  we.ir  a  modest  counten.iiu'e 

With  lids  weigh'd  down  liy  the  heart's  heaviness, 
WluTU'c  come  yon,  that  amon<^  you  every   face 

App«-ars  the  same,  for  its  p.ih    trouhled  f;lance? 

Have  you  heheld  my  lady  s   i.iee.  perch.ance, 

liow'd    with    the    u;rief    that    I,o\<-    makes    fnll    of 

grace  .' 
Say  now,  "    This  tinnii  is  thus;    "  ,is  my  he.irt  s.ays, 

Marking  your  grax  t    .ind  sorrowful  advance. 

I   ;Ji)   1 


Clic  pcU)  Mifc 

AikÌ  if    ÌTi(lr<  (1   \(>ii  iDiin     rmiii  \s  Ihti-  sIh'  sij;lis 
Am(I   mourns,  may   il   pliasc   voti    (  for  his   heart's 
nli.f) 
'I'd  till  liow   it   tins  with  lur  unto  liini 
\\  ho  knows  that  you  ha\r  wrpl,  si-ciii^  your  •■yt-s. 
And  is  so  ^rit'\<(l  with  looUinj;  on  your  j^rirl 

That    his    htaii    tr<nih!<s    and    his   si^ht    ^rows 
dim 

77//.V  sound  is  (liritlcd  into  ino  ixiiTs.  In  tiic  first, 
I  rail  anil  ash-  these  ladies  irlietlier  tlieif  eome  from 
Iter,  telling  theni  that  I  think  thei/  do,  heeansr  thet/ 
retnrn  the  nohler.  In  the  seeoud,  I  praif  them  to  tell 
vie  of  her;  and  the  second  hei^ins  liere,  "  And  if 
indeed." 


II. 


Cwsi-  thou  iii(hi(l  he  hi-  that  still  would  sini; 
(  )!'  (Uir  dear  lady  unto  nonr  lui  I  us  : 
lor  lhou;rh  tiiy  voice  eoufirms  that  it  is  thus, 
'I'hy  \  isa^e  miglit  anotiur  witness  l)riii;i. 
And  wheretOre  is  thy  grief  so  sore  a  thing 
Tliat  grieving  thou  mak'st  others  dolorous.^ 
Hast  thou  too  seen  her  weej).  that  thou  from  us 
Canst  not  conceal  thine  inward  sorrowing? 
N;iy,  leave  our  woe  to  us:  let  us  alone: 

"I'were  sin  if  one  should  strive  to  soothe  our  woe, 
1  or  in  her  weeping  we  have  heard  lier  speak: 
Also  her  look's  so  full  of  her  heart's  moan 

Til  it  they  who  should  behold  her,  looking  so, 
.Must  fall  aswooii.  feeling  all  life  grow  weak. 

This  sonnet  has  four  parts,  a.s  the  ladies  in  nhose 
person  I  reply  had  four  forms  of  answer.     And,  be- 

I    -id   I 


€l)c  |)cUj  3tifc 

cause  these  ore  sufficienti i/  slionii  (ihore,  I  stai/  not 
to  explain  tiie  purport  of  tlie  parts,  and  therefore 
I  onlif  discriminate  them.  The  second  hei^ius  here, 
"  And  trherefore  is  Ihi/  grief;  "  the  third  here, 
"  Xaif,  leave  our  woe  ;  "  the  fourth,  "  Also  her 
look." 

A  iVw  (lays  after  this,  my  body  l)rcaiiic  atllictid 
witii  a  pain  till  infirmity,  wlurtby  I  suH'trtd  l)itt(  r 
anguish  for  many  days,  which  at  last  l)r(ni«:;ht  nie 
unto  such  weakness  that  1  could  no  longer  move. 
And  I  remember  that  on  tlic  ninth  day,  being  over- 
come with  intolerable  pain,  a  thought  came  into  my 
mind  concerning  my  lady:  but  when  it  had  a  little 
nourished  this  tliought,  my  mind  returned  to  its 
brooding  over  mine  enfCebled  body.  And  then  ])er- 
eei\  ing  how  frail  a  thing  life  is,  even  though  health 
keep  with  it,  the  matter  seemed  to  me  so  |)itiful  that 
I  could  not  choose  but  weep;  and  wee])ing  I  said 
within  myself:  "  Certainly  it  nuist  some  time  come 
to  pass  that  the  very  gentle  Beatrice  will  die." 
Then,  feeling  bewildered,  I  closed  mine  t  yt  s  ;  and 
ivy  brain  began  to  be  in  travail  as  the  brain  of  one 
frantic,  and  to  have  such  imaginations  as  here 
f  Dllow. 

And  at  the  first,  it  seeincd  to  iiii-  that  1  s;iw  certain 
faces  of  women  with  tin  ir  hair  loosened,  which 
called  out  to  uu-,  "  Thou  shall  surely  die;"  after 
the  which,  other  terrible  and  unknown  apjjearances 
said  unto  me.  "  Thou  art  dead."  At  length,  as  my 
phantasy  held  on  in  its  wanderings,  I  came  to  be 
1  knew  not  where,  and  to  behold  a  throng  of  dis- 
hevelled ladies  woiuierfully  sad.  who  kept  going 
hither  and  thither  weeping.  'I'heii  the  sun  went 
out,  so  that  the  stars  -.l,o\vcd  themselves,  and  they 

[41   I 


ZUc  OcUj  ilifc 

were  ol  siicli  a  ((ilmir  thai  I  knew  tlhv  must  be 
weeping;  aiul  it  scniud  to  iiir  tliat  tlif  birds  li'll 
(lead  out  of  the  sky,  and  tliat  tlicrr  were  fjrcat 
cartlKjuakcs.  With  tliat.  while  I  woiuhnd  in  niv 
trance,  and  \v.;s  fiUed  with  a  j^rievons  fear,  I  eon- 
<■(  i\r(l  thai  a  (•(  riaiii  Iriiiid  eanie  unto  me  and  said: 
Hast  llmu  nut  hi  ard  .'  .She  that  was  thine  excel- 
lent lady  iiath  hren  taken  out  of  life."'  'i'licn  I 
hcijan  to  weep  Mry  piteonsly;  and  not  only  in  mine 
imairination.  hut  with  mine  eyes,  which  were  wet 
with  tears.  And  I  seemed  to  look  towards  Heaven, 
and  to  behold  a  nndtitude  of  an^rels  who  were  rc- 
turnin<i^  upwards.  ha\ing  bifore  them  an  exceed- 
ingly white  cloud:  and  these  aiifjcls  were  singing 
together  gloriously,  and  the  words  of  their  song 
were  these:  "  O.siiinui  in  criflsì.s  ;  "  aiul  there  was 
no  more  that  I  heard.  lln  n  my  he.irt  that  was  so 
full  of  love  said  unto  me:  "  It  is  true  that  our  lady 
lieth  dead;"  and  it  seemed  to  nie  that  I  went  to 
look  upon  the  body  win-rein  that  blessed  and  most 
noble  s))irit  had  had  its  abiding-place.  And  so 
strong  was  this  idle  imagining,  that  it  made  me  to 
behold  my  lady  in  death:  whose  head  certain  ladies 
seemed  to  he  eoxering  with  a  white  veil;  and  who 
was  so  huml)le  of  her  aspect  that  it  was  as  though 
.she  had  said,  "  1  have  attained  to  look  on  the  begin- 
ning of  peace."  And  therewithal  I  came  unto  such 
humility  by  the  sight  of  her.  that  1  cried  out  n])on 
Death,  saying:  '  .\ow  comi-  unto  me,  and  he  not 
bitter  against  nu-  any  longer:  surely,  there  where 
thou  hast  been,  thou  hist  learned  gentleness. 
Wherefore  come  now  unto  me  who  do  gre.itly  desire 
thee  :  seest  thou  not  Ih  it  1  wear  thy  <(ilour  al- 
ready.^ "  And  when  I  had  seen  all  those  olfices  per- 
formed that  arc  fitting  to   be  done  unto  the  dead, 

[4^  1 


€f)c  iDctD  atife 

it  seemed  to  me  that  1  went  haek  unto  mine  own 
eli.imber,  and  looked  up  towards  Heaven.  And  so 
strong  was  my  pliantasy,  tli  it  1  wept  ajjain  in  very 
truth,  and  s.iid  willi  my  true  xoiee:  "  ()  excellent 
soul  '  how  hlessed  is  he  that  now  looketh  upon 
Ih.v!  •■ 

And  as  I  said  these  words,  with  a  ))ainl'ul  aniruish 
of  sobbing  and  another  j)rayer  unto  Dealh.  a  young 
and  gentle  lady,  who  had  been  st.audiiig  besidt-  me 
where  1  lay.  eoneeiving  that  1  wept  and  cried  out 
b.ecause  of"  the  jiaiii  of  mine  infirmity,  was  taken 
with  trembling  and  began  to  shed  tears.  Whereby 
other  ladies,  who  were  about  the  room,  becoming 
aware  of  my  discomfort  by  reason  of  the  moan 
that  she  made,  (who  indeed  was  of  my  very  near 
kindred,)  led  her  away  from  where  I  was,  and  then 
set  themselves  to  awaken  me,  thinking  that  I 
dreamed,  and  saying:  "  Sleej)  no  longer,  and  be  not 
dis(juieted.'" 

Then,  by  their  words,  this  strong  imagination  was 
brought  suddenly  to  an  end,  at  the  moment  that  I 
was  about  to  say,  "  O  JJeatrice  !  peace  be  with  thee." 
And  already  I  had  said,  "  O  Beatrice!  "  when  being 
aroused,  I  ojiened  mine  eyes,  and  knew  that  it  had 
been  a  decej)tion.  liut  albeit  I  had  indeed  uttered 
her  name,  yet  my  voice  was  so  broken  with  sobs,  that 
it  was  not  understood  by  these  ladies;  so  that  in 
spite  of  the  sore  shame  that  I  felt.  1  ttirned  towards 
them  by  I^ove's  counselling.  And  when  thi  y  be- 
held me,  they  began  to  say,  "  He  seemeth  as  one 
dead,"  and  to  whisjier  among  themselves,  "  Let  us 
strive  if  we  may  not  comfort  liim."  \\'hereu])on 
they  spake  to  me  many  soothing  words,  and  (pies- 
tioned  me  moreover  touching  tlie  cause  of  my  fear. 
Then  I,  being  somewhat  reassured,  and  having  per- 

[43] 


ceivcd  that  it  was  a  mere  pliaiilasy,  said  unto  them, 
This  thiiifi:  it  was  that  made  me  al'card;  '"  and  toh! 
thciii  of  all  that  I  had  sten,  troni  the  htj^innin^ 
c\iii  unto  tlu'  end,  l)ut  without  oncf  sptakin^  the 
iianit'  of  my  lady.  Also,  after  I  iiad  rccoviTcd  from 
my  sickness,  I  hethouglit  me  to  write  these  things 
in  rhyme;  deeming  it  a  lovely  thing  to  be  known. 
\A'hereof  I   wrote  this  poem: — 

A  VERY  pitiful  lady.  \ery  young, 

Exceeding  rich  in  hum.in  symp.athies. 

Stood  hy,  what  time  I  clamour'd  upon  Death; 
And  at  the  wild  words  wandering  on  my  tongue 
And  at  the  piteous  look  within  mine  eyes 

She     was     affrighted,   that     sohs     choked     her 

breath. 
So  by  her  weeping  wliere  I  Iny  beneath, 
Some  other  gentle  Ladies  eame  to  know 
My  state,  and  made  her  go  : 

Afterward,  bending  themselves  over  me, 
One  said,  "  Awaken  thee!  " 

And  one,  "  \\'hat  thing  thy  sleep  discjuieteth  ?  " 
With  that,  my  soul  woke  up  from  its  eclipse. 
The  while  my  ladys  name  rose  to  my  lips: 

But  utter'd  in  a  voice  so  sob-broken, 
So  feeble  with  the  agony  of  tears. 

That  I  alone  might  hear  it  in  my  he.irt; 
And  though  that  look  was  on  my  visage  then 
\\'hich  he  who  is  ashamed  so  ])lainly  wears. 
Love    made    thai     I    through    shame    held    not 

apart, 
Hut  gazed  upon  them.     And  my  hue  was  such 
That  they  look'd  at  eaeli  other  and  thought  of  death  ; 
Saying  under  their  breath 

[44  1 


€i)c  Inetti  itifc 

Most  tender!}',  "  O  let  us  comfort  liini  :  " 

Then  unto  me:  "  What  dream 

Was  thine,  that  it  hath  shaken  thee  so  nmch?  " 
And  when  I  was  a  little  comforted, 
"  This,  ladies,  was  the  dream  I  dreamt,"  I  said. 

"  I  was  a-thinking  how  life  fails  with  us 
Suddenly  after  such  a  little  while; 

When  Love  sobb'd  in  my  heart,  which  is  his 
home. 
Whereby  my  spirit  wax'd  so  dolorous 
That  in  myself  I  said,  witli  sick  recoil: 

'  Yea,  to  my  lady  too  this  Death  must  come.' 
And  therewithal  such  a  bewilderment 
Possess'd  me,  that  I  shut  mine  eyes  for  peace; 
And  in  my  brain  did  cease 

Order  of  thought,  and  every  healthful  thing. 
Afterwards,  wandering 

Amid  a  swarm  of  doubts  that  came  and  went, 
Some  certain  women's  faces  hurried  by, 
And  shriek'd  to  me,  '  Thou  too  shalt  die,  shalt  die!  ' 

"  Then  saw  I  many  broken  hinted  sights 
In  the  uncertain  st.ite  I  stepp'd  into. 

Meseem'd  to  be  I  know  not  in  what  place, 
Where    ladies    through    the    street,  like    mournful 
lights, 
Ran  with  loose  hair,  and  eyes  that  frighten'd  you 
By  their  own  terror,  and  a  pale  amaze: 
TÌie  whih-,  little  by  little,  as  I  thought. 
The  sun  ceased,  and  the  stars  began  to  gather, 
And  each   wept  at  the  other; 

And  birds  dropp'd  in  mid-flight  out  of  the  sky; 
And  earth  shook  suddeidy  ; 

And  I  was  'ware  of  one,  hoarse  and  tired  out, 

[45] 


ZUc  pelli   Uifc 

W'lio  .-isk'd  ot  ine:  '  H.ist  llmii  noi  lic.ird  it  said?  .  .  . 
Tliy  l.idy.  slif  that  was  so  fair,  is  (ifad.' 

I'lii  II  lil'tiiii;  lip  niini'  eyes,  as  llit-  tears  oainc, 
I    s.iw    tiu-  Aii;:;tls,  likf  a  rain  ot"  iiiaima. 
In  a  K)ii^  fli^lit  Hying  back  Hi'a\  tnward  ; 
Ha\  in<r  a  littlr  idoud  in  front  ot"  tln'in, 

Aitt-r  tlif  which  thiy  went  ."ind  said,  '  Ilosanna;  ' 
And   if  thiv   had  said  niort',  you  sliould   have 

heard. 
Then  Love  said.  '  Now  sh.ill  all  tliiii<rs  he  made 
cle>*r  : 
COnie  and  hi-liold  our  lady  where  she  lies.' 
These  'wilderin<r  |)hantasies 

Then  carried  me  to  see  my  lady  d(  ail. 
Even  as  I  tlicre  was  led. 

Her  ladies  with  a  veil  were  eo\triii<f  her; 
And  with  her  was  such  very  humbleness 
That  she  appeared  to  say,  '  1   am   at  peace.' 

"  And  I  became  so  humble  in  my  grief, 
Seeing  in  her  such  deep  humility. 

That  I  said:  '  Death,  1  hold  thee  passing  good 
Henceforth,  and  a  most  gentle  sweet  relief. 

Since  my  dear  love  has  chosen  to  dwell  with  thee: 
Pity,  not  hate,  is  thine,  well  understood. 
Lo  !  I  do  so  desiri-  to  see  thy  face 
That  I  am  like  as  one  who  nears  the  tomb; 
My  soul  entreats  thee,  Come.' 

Then  I  departed,  having  made  my  moan; 
And  when  1  was  alone 

I  said,  and  cast  my  eyes  to  the  High  Place: 
'  Blessed  is  he,  fair  soul,  wlio  meets  thy  glance  !  ' 

Just  then  you  woke  uic,  of  your  com- 

plaisaiince." 

[    •«  1 


Zi]c  pclu  ilifc 

This  poem  has  tiro  parts.  In  the  first,  speaking 
to  a  person  undefined,  I  tell  lion'  I  nvis  aroused  from 
a  vain  phantasi/  hi/  certain  ladies,  and  flow  I  prom- 
ised them  to  tell  what  it  was.  In  the  second  I  saij 
how  I  told  them.  The  second  part  heains  here,  "  I 
was  a-thinliing."  The  first  part  divides  into  two. 
In  the  first,  I  tell  that  which  certain  ladies,  and 
which  one  singly,  did  and  said  because  of  my  phan- 
tasy, before  I  had  returned  into  my  rigid  senses. 
In  the  secoiid,  I  tell  wiiat  these  ladies  said  to  me 
after  I  had  left  off  tliis  wandering:  and  it  begins 
here,  "  But  uttered  in  a  voice."  Then,  when  I  say, 
"  I  was  a-thin/iing,"  I  say  how  I  told  tliem  this  my 
imagination  ;  and  concerning  tiiis  I  have  two  jxtrts. 
In  the  first,  I  tell,  in  order,  tiiis  imagination.  In 
the  second,  saying  at  what  time  they  called  me,  I 
covertly  thank  them:  and  tliis  part  begins  herC; 
"Just  then  you  tvoliC  »ic." 

AftiT  tiiis  ciiipty  iiii,iu,iiiiii<;-.  it  Impptncd  on  a 
day,  as  1  sat  tliou<j;liti"ul,  that  1  was  taken  with  such 
a  stronjr  trt  inhlin<i;  at  the  licart,  that  it  could  not 
have  been  otherwise  in  the  presence  of  my  lady. 
Whereupon  I  jiereeived  that  there  was  an  apjjear- 
ance  of  Love  beside  me,  and  I  seemed  to  see  him 
comin<i^  from  my  lady  ;  and  he  said,  not  aloud  but 
within  my  heart:  "  Now  take  heed  that  thou  bless 
the  day  when  I  entered  into  thee;  for  it  is  fittinji; 
that  tliou  shouldst  do  so."  And  with  that  my  heart 
was  so  full  of  gladness,  that  I  could  hardly  believe 
it  to  be  of  very  truth  mine  own  heart  and  not 
another. 

A  short  while  after  thesi-  words  which  my  heart 
spoke  to  me  with  the  tongue  of  Love,  I  saw  coming 
towards  me  a  certain  lady  who  was  very  famous  for 

[47] 


licr  br.'iuty.  and  iii  whom  that  trilliti  whom  T  Iiavc 
already  caUcd  tlic  first  amoii";  my  Iritiids  had  long 
brt'ii  riiamourcd.  This  lady  s  rij^hl  name  was  Joan; 
l)ut  hecausr  of"  her  comeliness  (or  at  hast  it  w:'.s  so 
imajrincd)  she  was  eaUed  of  many  Priiiiavera 
(Sj)rinf;).  and  went  by  tli;  t  name  among  them. 
Then  looking  again.  I  perceived  that  the  most  noble 
Beatrice  followed  after  her.  And  when  botli  these 
ladies  had  jiasscd  by  me,  it  seemed  to  me  that  Love 
spake  again  in  my  Iieart.  saying:  "  She  that  came 
first  was  called  Spring,  only  because  of  that  which 
was  to  h.ippen  on  this  day.  And  it  was  I  myself 
who  caused  that  name  to  be  given  her;  seeing  that 
as  the  Spring  cometh  first  in  the  year,  so  should  she 
come  first  on  this  day.  when  Beatrice  was  to  show 
lierself  after  the  vision  of  her  servant.  And  even 
if  thou  go  about  to  consider  her  right  nam<-,  it  is 
also  as  one  should  say,  '  She  shall  come  first;  '  in- 
asmuch as  her  name,  Joan,  is  taken  from  that  John 
who  went  before  the  True  Light,  saying:  '  Kiio  ro.r 
cldiiiantis  in  deserto:  Parafe  viavì  Domìni.'  And 
also  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  added  other  words,  to 
wit:  "He  wlio  should  iiuiuir.'  delicately  touching 
this  matter,  could  not  but  call  Beatrice  by  mine 
own  name,  which  is  to  say.  Love;  beholding  her  so 
like  unto  me." 

Then  L  having  thought  of  this,  imagined  to 
write  it  with  rhymes  and  send  it  unto  my  chief 
friend;  but  setting  aside  certain  words  which 
seemed  proper  to  be  set  aside,  because  I  believed 
that  his  heart  still  regarded  the  beauty  of  her  that 
was  called  Spring.  And  I  wrote  this  sonnet: — 

I  i-Ki/r  a  s])irit  of  love  begin  to  stir 

Within  p.iy  heart,  long  time  unfelt  till  then; 


Zì)c  peto  %ìk 

And  saw  Love  coiniiif;  towards  nu-,  fair  and  fain, 
(That  I  scarce  knew  liiin  for  his  joyful  cheer,) 
Saying,  "  Be  now  indeed  my  worshipper!  " 

And  in  liis  s))eech  he  laugli'd  and  laugh'd  again. 
Then,  whiU'  it  was  his  |)leasure  to  remain, 
I  chanced  to  look  the  way  he  had  drawn  near. 
And  saw  the  Ladies  Joan  and   IJeatriee 
Approach  me,  this  the  other  following. 
One  and  a  second  marvel   instantly. 
And  even  as  now  my  memory  sj)eaketh  this, 

Love    sj)ake    it    then:    "The    first    is    christen'd 
Spring; 
The  second  Love,  she  is  so  like  to  me." 

77//.y  sonnet  Juts  inanij  parts:  ivhereof  the  first 
tells  Jiotr  I  felt  awaheiied  iritltin  niif  lieart  the  aeeus- 
tomed  tremor,  and  lioie  it  seemed  tJiat  Love  ap- 
peared to  me  joyful  from  af<.-r.  The  seeond  sai/s 
hoii'  it  appeared  to  me  that  Love  spake  within  my 
heart,  and  what  was  his  aspeet.  The  third  tells  hniv, 
after  he  had  in  sueh  wise  been  ivith  me  a  space,  I 
saw  and  lieard  eertain  tilings.  The  second  part 
begins  here,  "  Saying,  '  lie  noiv;  '  "  the  third  here. 
Then,  while  it  ivas  ]iis  pleasure."  The  third  part 
divides  into  two.  In  the  first,  I  say  wJiat  I  saiv. 
In  the  second,  I  say  irliat  I  heard;  and  it  begins 
here,  "  Love  spake  it  then." 

It  might  be  lure  objected  unto  me,  (and  even  by 
one  worthy  of  controversy,)  that  I  have  spoken  of 
Love  as  though  it  were  a  thing  outward  and  visible: 
not  oidy  a  spiritual  essence,  but  as  a  bodily  sub- 
stance also.  Tlie  which  thing,  in  absolute  trutli,  is 
a  fallacy;  Love  not  being  of  itself  a  substance,  but 
an    accident    of    substance.     Yet    that    I    speak    of 

[49] 


€l)f  pcUj  Uifc 

Love  as  tliotij^Ii  il  utrr  a  tliiiij;  t.iiijjihlo  and  cvcii 
liuinaii.  a|)|)i;irs  l)y  tlinr  tliinjj;s  wliicli  I  say  tlu-ri-- 
oC.  And  firstly,  I  say  that  I  |)rrc«ivrd  Lovf  coming 
towards  iiif;  wliir«l)y.  si-fing  that  to  cumc  hcspi'aks 
hK'«)motioii.  and  siring  also  how  |>hih)so|)liy  tcacli- 
rth  us  that  none  hut  a  corporeal  substance  hath 
locomotion,  it  seemeth  that  I  speak  of  Love  as  of  a 
corporeal  suhstanee.  And  secondly,  I  say  that 
Love  smiled:  and  thirdly,  that  Love  spake;  facul- 
ties (and  espei'ially  the  risible  faculty)  whicli 
appear  proper  unto  man:  whereby  it  further  seem- 
eth that  I  speak  of  Love  as  of  a  man.  Now  that 
this  matter  may  be  ex])laincd,  (as  is  fitting,)  it  must 
first  be  remeniln  i» d  that  anciently  they  who  wrote 
poems  of  Love  wrote  not  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  but 
rather  certain  j)oets  in  the  Latin  tongue.  I  mean, 
among  us,  although  |)erehance  the  same  may  have 
bien  among  others,  and  although  likewise,  a.s 
among  the  Greeks,  they  were  not  writers  of  spoken 
language,  but  men  of  letters  treated  of  these  things. 
And  indeed  it  is  not  a  great  number  of  years  .since 
))oetry  began  tt)  be  made  in  tlu-  vulgar  tongue;  the 
writing  of  rhymes  in  spoken  language  correspond- 
ing to  the  writing  in  metre  of  Latin  verse,  by  a 
certain  analogy.  And  I  say  that  it  is  but  a  little 
wliile,  because  if  we  examine  the  Language  of  oco 
and  the  language  of  .y/,  we  shall  not  find  in  those 
tongues  any  written  thing  of  an  earlier  date  than 
the  last  hundred  ,ind  fifty  years.  Also  the  reason 
why  certain  of  a  \  try  mean  sort  obtained  at  the  first 
some  fame  as  jjoets  is,  that  before  them  no  man  had 
written  verses  in  the  language  of  si:  and  of  these, 
the  first  was  moved  to  the  writing  of  such  virses  by 
the  wisii  to  make  himself  imderstood  of  a  certain 
lady,  unto  whom    Latin   poetry  was  ditiicult.     This 

L  •^>t>  ] 


Cf)c  pctu  Itifc 

tliin/^  is  against  siuli  a^  rliyiiir  coiK-triiin};  other 
inatttTs  than  h)vc;  that  iiiodf  of  spi-tch  having  hien 
first  ustcl  for  thi-  txprtssion  of  h)Vf  alont-.  Whtre- 
fore,  sct'ing  tliat  jjotts  have  a  licinsc  aUowt-d  thtin 
that  is  not  allowed  unto  the  writers  of  prose,  and 
seeing  also  that  they  who  write  in  rhyme  are  simply 
poets  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  it  becomes  fitting  and 
reasonable  that  a  larger  license  should  be  given  to 
these  than  to  other  modern  writers;  and  that  any 
meta])hor  or  rhctorieal  similitude  which  is  permitted 
unto  poets,  should  also  be  counted  not  unseemly  in 
the  rhymirs  of  the  \  ulgar  tongue.  Thus,  if  we  pcr- 
ceive  that  tlu'  former  have  caused  inanimate  things 
to  speak  as  though  they  had  sense  and  reason,  and 
to  discourse  one  with  another;  yea,  and  not  only 
actual  things,  but  such  also  as  liave  no  real  exist- 
ence, (seeing  that  tlii'v  have  made  things  which  are 
not.  to  speak;  and  oftentimes  written  of  those 
which  are  merely  accidents  as  though  they  were 
substances  and  things  human);  it  should  therefore 
be  permitted  to  tiie  latter  to  do  the  like;  which  is  to 
say,  not  inconsiderably,  but  with  such  sufficient 
motive  as  may  afterwards  be  set  forth  in  j)rose. 

That  tlif  Latin  potts  lia\f  done  thus,  appears 
through  X'irgil,  where  he  saith  that  Juno  (to  wit,  a 
goddess  hostile  to  the  Trojans)  s|)ake  unto  .-Kolus, 
master  of  the  Winds;  as  it  is  written  in  the  first 
book  of  the  .I'ini'id.  /Eole,  iiamcjue  tihi,  etc.;  and 
that  tills  master  of  the  ^^'inds  made  reply:  runs,  o 
rciiina,  (iiiid  optcs — Ex  pi  ora  re  labor,  ììiilii  jussa 
capcsxcrc  /V/.v  est.  And  through  the  same  poet,  the 
inanimate  thing  s|)eaketh  mito  the  animate,  in  the 
third  book  of  the  .Twieid,  where  it  is  written:  Darda- 
iiidd'  duri,  etc.  With  Lucan,  the  animate  thing 
speaketh  to  the  inanimate;  as  thus:  Multimi,  Roma, 

[51] 


ZUc  Orili  ìlifc 


tiiiiirn  (li'hfx  ririliliu.s  nrini.'i.  In  I  Inr.icc,  mail  is 
Iliadi-  to  sjuak  to  liis  own  iiitilli^iiK-c  as  unto  aii- 
otlur  prrson;  (and  not  only  liatli  Horacr  done  this, 
l)ut  JHTriii  In-  followctli  tlir  i-xcrlicnt  Ilonu-r).  ns 
tliiis  in  liis  l'oitics:  Dir  iiiilii,  Miixii,  virtim,  etc. 
'I  liroiij^li  Ovid,  I,o\f  spiakctii  as  a  liunian  crfaturt", 
in  tilt-  Itfginnin^  ot  liis  disc-ourst-  Dr  lii-mcdiis 
Amoris:  as  thus:  tifila  milii,  video,  bella  paratitur. 
ait.  ìiy  which  i-nsanipK-s  tliis  tiling  shall  he  madr 
mani  test  unto  such  as  may  Iti-  oH'cndcd  at  any  part 
of  this  my  hook.  And  hst  sonu-  of  tin-  conimon  sort 
should  Ik-  niov«'d  to  j«'«TÌnj;  luTcat.  I  will  ht-ri-  add, 
that  iicitlur  did  these  ancient  po«ts  speak  thus  with- 
out consideration,  nor  should  they  who  arc  makers 
of  rhyme  in  our  day  write  after  the  same  fashion, 
having  no  reason  in  what  they  write;  for  it  were  a 
shameful  thing  if  one  should  rhyme  under  the  scin- 
hlancc  of  meta))hor  or  rhetorical  similitude,  and 
afterwards,  l.eiiiir  (|uestioiied  thereof,  should  l)e  un- 
ahle  to  rid  his  words  of  such  scmhianee.  unto  their 
right  understanding.  Of  whom,  (to  wit.  of  such  as 
rhyme  thus  foolisiily.)  myself  and  tin  first  among 
my  f  riends  do  know  many. 

Hut  returning  to  the  matter  of  my  discourse. 
This  e.xcclleiit  lady,  of  whom  I  spake  in  what  hath 
gone  before,  came  at  last  into  such  favour  with  all 
men,  that  when  siie  passed  anywhere  folk  ran  to 
hehold  her;  which  thing  was  a  de«'p  joy  to  me:  and 
when  slu-  drew  nc.-ir  unto  any,  so  much  truth  and 
simpleiiess  entered  into  his  luart,  that  he  d.ired 
neither  to  lift  his  eyes  nor  to  return  her  salutation: 
and  unto  this,  many  who  have  felt  it  can  hear  wit- 
ness. .*^he  went  along  crowned  and  clothed  with 
humility,  showing  no  whit  of  pride  in  all  that  she 
iicard  and  saw:  and  when  she  h.id  gone  by,  it  was 

I    .V.'  I 


said  of  many,  "  TJiis  is  not  a  woinin,  l)iit  one  of  tlic 
beaiititul  aiifjcls  of"  Hc.ivcn;  "  and  tlicrc  wire  some 
that  said:  "  'I'liis  is  siirtly  .1  miracle;  lilcsst-d  he  the 
Lord,  wlio  halh  power  to  work  thus  marvcUoiislv." 
I  say,  of  very  sooth,  that  she  sliowed  hirself  so 
genth"  and  so  full  of  all  ])rrfiction,  that  she  bred 
in  those  who  looked  upon  her  a  soothing  quiet  be- 
yond any  speech;  neither  could  any  look  upon  lier 
without  sighing  immediately.  Thes»'  things,  and 
things  yet  more  wonderful,  were  brought  to  ])ass 
through  her  miraculous  virtue.  \\'herefore  I,  con- 
sidering thereof  and  wishing  to  resume  the  endless 
talc  of  her  praises,  resolved  to  write  somewhat 
wherein  I  might  dwell  on  her  surj)assing  iuHuencc; 
to  the  end  that  not  only  they  who  had  beheld  her, 
but  others  also,  might  know  as  much  concerning  her 
as  words  could  give  to  the  lUKierstanding.  And  it 
was  then  that  I  wrote  this  sonnet: — 

My  lady  looks  so  gentle  and  so  ])ure 
When  yielding  salutation  by  the  way. 
That  the  tongue  trembles  and  has  nought  to  say. 

And  the  eyt's,  which  fain  would  see,  may  not  endure. 
\nd  still,  amid  the  praise  she  hears  secure. 
She  walks  with  hmnhleness  for  her  array; 
Seeming  a  creature  sent  from  H<aven  to  stay 

On  earth,  and  show  a  miracle  made  sure. 

She  is  so  jileasant  in  the  eyes  of  men 

That  through  the  sight  the  inmost  heart  doth  gain 
A  sweetness  which  needs  jiroof  to  know  it  by: 

And  from  between  her  lips  there  seems  to  move 

A  soothing  essence  that  is  full  of  lo\t'. 
Saying  for  ever  to  the  spirit,  "  Sigh  ! 

This  soiuiet  is  so  easy  to  uuderst and.   from  what 
is    afore    narrated,  that    it    needs    no    di\isi()n;  and 

L  •'53  J 


C()f  pcU)  ilifc 

thcrtlOrc,  leaving  it.  I  s.iy  .ilso  Ih  it  this  «•xcclKnt 
I;uiv  rainc  into  such  l.nour  witli  .ill  iiicii,  that  not 
oiilv  she  hirsclf  was  luuiniind  and  connncndid,  but 
tliroujili  htr  cDnipanionshi)».  Iionour  and  couiiniiida- 
tioii  canir  unto  otlnTs.  Wlitnt Or»  I.  |)«Tr«ivinj5 
this,  and  wisliin^x  lli''t  't  should  also  he  made  nian- 
it'rst  to  thosr  that  Induid  it  not.  wrote  the  sonntt 
licrr  followini;;  whrrfin  is  sij^nifit-d  tlu'  j)ow(r  whifh 
htr  virtuf  h.id  upon  other  ladies: — 

I''oH  certain  he  hath  seen  all  perl'ectness 
W'iio  anion^  other  ladies  hath  seen  mine: 
Thev  that  p)  with  her  huud)Iy  should  combine 

To  tliank  their  (iod  for  such  peculiar  grace. 

So  ])ert"ect  is  the  beauty  of  her  face 
That  it  begets  in  no  wise  any  sign 
Of  envy,  but  draws  round  her  a  clear  line 

Of  love,  and  blessed  faith,  and  gentleness. 

Merely  tlie  sight  of  her  makes  all  things  bow: 
Not  she  herself  alone  is  liolier 

Than    all;    but    lurs.    through    her,    are    raised 
above. 

From  all  her  acts  such  lovely  graces  flow 
That  truly  one  may  never  think  of  her 
Without  a  j)assion  of  exceeding  love. 

This  soiiììct  has  three  parts.  In  the  first,  I  sai/  in 
what  companji  this  ladi/  appeared  most  iroiidrotis. 
In  the  seeoud,  I  sai/  haw  •rraeious  was  her  societif. 
In  the  tliird,  I  tell  of  the  things  whieh  she,  with 
power,  worked  upon  others.  The  seeond  hcfiins 
here,  "  Thei/  that  go  with  her;  "  the  third  here,"  So 
perfeet."  This  last  part  divides  into  three.  In  the 
first,  I  tell  what  she  operated  upon  women,  that  is, 
hif  their  own  f'aculties.      In   the  second,  I  tell  what 

I  r,i  1 


€hc  |!)ctD  Hifc 

she  operated  in  them  through  others.  In  the  third, 
I  .sai/  how  she  not  only  operated  in  ironien,  hut  in  all 
people;  and  not  only  while  herself  present,  hnf,  hi/ 
memorif  of  her,  operated  wondronsly.  The  second 
he<iins  here,  "  Merely  the  siirht ;  "  the  third  here, 
From  (ill  her  acts." 

Tlicrcaf'tcr  on  n  day,  I  began  to  consick-r  tliat 
wliicli  I  liad  said  of  uiy  lady:  to  wit.  in  tlifsc  two 
soniirts  .iforcgonc:  and  hcroniing  aware  that  I  liad 
not  sjKiken  ot"  her  innncdiate  effect  on  nie  at  that 
especial  time,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  spoken  de- 
fectively. Whereupon  I  resolved  to  write  somewhat 
of  the  manner  wherein  I  was  then  subject  to  her 
influence,  and  of  what  her  influence  then  was.  And 
conceiving  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  say  these 
things  in  the  small  com])ass  of  a  sonnet.  I  began 
tliereforc  a  ])oeni  with  this  begiiniing:-- 

LovE  hath  so  long  ])ossessed  me  tor  his  own 

And  made  his  lordshij)  so  familiar 
That  he,  wdio  at  first  irked  me,  is  now  grown 

Unto  my  heart  as  its  best  secrets  are. 

And  thus,  when  he  in  such  sore  wise  doth  mar 
My  life  that  all  its  strength  seems  gone  from  it. 
Mine  iinnost  being  then  feels  thoroughly  (|uit 

Of  anguish,  and  all  evil  keeps  afar. 
lx)ve  also  gathers  to  such  pout  r  in  nic 

That  my  sighs  s))eak,  each  one  a  grievous  thini;. 

Always  soliciting 
My  lady's  salutation  ))iteously. 
Whenever  she  beholds  me,  it  is  so. 
Who  is  more  sweet  tiian  anv  words  can  show. 


[  •">'>  1 


"Tlìf  pfU)   li  Iff 

(^ikhikxIo  sidit  saln  cirittts  piena  poputo!  facia 
rst  ifiiiisì  vidiin  (Idininii  •;rntiiiìn ! 

I  was  still  octwpiid  witli  this  potin.  (  li.i\  iiij;  com- 
posfd  tlurti)!"  Diily  the  .ibox c-uTittcìi  stanza.)  wluii 
tli«'  Lord  (i()(l  ol  justitT  failed  iiiy  most  grac'i«)us 
lady  unto  Himself",  that  she  mi;^ht  he  glorious  under 
till-  hanuer  of  that  Messed  (^ueen  Mary,  whose  name 
had  always  a  deep  reverence  in  the  words  of  holy 
lieatrice.  And  because  haply  it  m'ght  he  found 
good  that  I  should  say  somewhat  concerning  her 
departure,  I  will  herein  declare  what  arc  tin-  reasons 
which  make  th.il   1   shall  not  do  so. 

And  the  reasons  are  three.  The  first  is,  that  such 
matter  helongeth  not  of  right  to  the  |)resent  argu- 
ment, if  OIK'  consider  the  opening  of  this  little  hook. 
The  second  is,  that  even  though  the  })resent  argu- 
ment required  it.  my  pen  doth  not  suffice  to  write  in 
a  fit  manner  of  this  thing.  And  the  third  is,  that 
were  it  both  possible  and  of  absolute  necessity,  it 
would  still  be  unseemly  for  me  to  speak  tln-rcof, 
seiing  that  thereby  it  must  behove  me  to  speak  also 
mine  own  praises:  a  thing  that  in  whosoever  d<Hth 
it  is  worthy  of  blame.  l"or  the  which  reasons.  I 
will  leave  tliis  matter  to  b<'  treated  of  by  some  other 
than  myself. 

Nevertheless,  as  tin  iiuiiilier  nine,  which  number 
hath  often  had  mention  in  what  hath  gone  before, 
(and  not,  as  it  might  ajipear.  without  reason.)  seems 
also  to  have  borne  a  j)art  in  the  manner  i>f  her 
death:  it  is  therefore  right  that  I  should  say  some- 
what thereof.  And  for  this  cause,  having  first  said 
what  was  the  part  it  bore  herein,  I  will  afterwards 
j)oint  out  a  reason  wliieh  made  that  this  number  was 
so  closely  allied  uiilo  my  lady. 

[56  J 


Beata  Bea;.. a 
(Drmvii'f  ty  D-  G.  Rosstlti) 


€^c  |i)ctD  nife 

I  say,  thrn,  tli.it  accord'n^  t<»  tlu'  division  of  time 
in  Italy,  her  iiiost  nohlf  spirit  (icparted  fr«)ni  among 
us  in  tin-  first  liour  of"  tlir  ninth  day  of  tlif  montli; 
and  accordiiifT  to  tlw  division  of  time  in  Syria,  in 
tlir  ninth  month  of  the  yrar:  sciing  th.at  iismim, 
which  willi  us  is  October,  is  there  the  first  montli. 
Also  she  was  taken  from  among  us  in  that  year  of 
our  reckoning  (to  wit,  of  tlic  years  of  our  Lord)  in 
which  the  perfect  numher  was  nine  times  multiplied 
within  that  century  wiierein  she  was  born  into  the 
world:  which  is  to  say,  the  thirteenth  century  of 
Christians. 

And  touching  the  reason  why  this  number  was  so 
closely  allied  unto  her,  it  may  ])cradventure  be  this. 
According  to  Ptolemy,  (and  also  to  the  Christian 
verity),  the  revolving  heavens  are  nine;  and  accord- 
ing to  the  common  opinion  among  astrologers,  these 
nine  heavens  together  have  influence  over  the  earth. 
Wherefore  it  would  appear  that  this  number  was 
thus  allied  unto  her  for  the  j)uri)ose  of  signifying 
that,  at  her  birth,  all  these  nine  heavens  were  at 
perfect  unity  with  each  other  as  to  their  influence. 
This  is  one  reason  that  may  be  brought  :  but  more 
narrowly  considering,  and  according  to  the  infal- 
lible truth,  this  number  was  her  own  self:  that  is  to 
say,  by  similitude.  As  thus.  The  number  three  is 
the  root  of  the  number  nine;  seeing  that  without  the 
interposition  of  any  other  number,  being  multiplied 
merely  by  itself,  it  jiroduceth  nine,  as  we  manifestly 
perceive  that  three  times  three  are  nine.  Thus,  three 
being  of  itself  the  efficient  of  nine,  and  the  Great 
Efficient  of  Miracles  being  of  Himself  Three  Per- 
sons, (to  wit:  the  I'ather,  the  Son.  and  the  Holy 
Spirit,)  which,  being  Three,  are  also  One: — this 
lady  was  accompanied    by  the  number  nine  to  the 

[57  J 


€!]c  fic\}j  iiiff 

«■11(1  tli.it  nun  Miiijlil  clf.irly  pcrccivt-  her  to  lie  .1  nine, 
that  is,  a  inirarlc.  wliosf  only  root  is  tlif  Holy  'I'riii- 
ity.  It  may  in-  tliit  a  more  siilitilc  person  would  find 
for  this  thin;;  a  reason  of  <;r<at(r  siihtiltv:  hut  such 
is  the  reason  tliat   1    find,  and  that  likith  ine  lust. 

Alter  this  most  gracious  creature  had  j^onc  out 
from  anion;;  us.  the  whole  city  came  to  he  as  it  were 
widowed  and  despoiled  of  all  di;riiily.  'I'heii  I.  left 
mournin;;  in  this  desol.-ite  city,  wrote  unto  the  prin- 
cipal persons  thereof,  in  an  epistle,  concerning  its 
condition  ;  taking  for  my  commencement  those  words 
of  Jeremias:  (^iioinodo  .sedei  sold  cirittisl  etc.  And 
I  make  mention  ol  this,  that  none  may  marvel 
wherefore  [  set  down  these  words  heforc.  in  begin- 
ning to  tr<al  of  her  death.  Also  if  any  should  hlainr 
me,  in  that  1  do  not  transcribe  that  epistle  whereof 
I  have  spoken.  I  will  make  it  mine  excuse  that  I 
began  this  little  hook  with  the-  intent  that  it  should 
be  written  altogether  in  the  vulgar  tongue;  where- 
fore, seeing  that  the  epistle  I  s|)eak  of  is  in  Latin, 
it  belongeth  not  to  mine  undertaking:  more  espe- 
cially as  I  know  that  my  chief  friend,  for  whom  I 
write  this  book,  wished  also  that  the  whole  of  it 
should  be  in  the  vulgar  tongue. 

\\'lien  mine  eyes  had  wept  for  some  while,  until 
tlu  y  were  so  weary  with  weeping  that  I  could  no 
longer  through  them  give  ease  to  my  sorrow.  I  be- 
thought me  that  a  few  mournful  words  might  stand 
me  instead  of  tears.  And  tin  rt Core  1  projiosed  to 
make  a  poem,  that  wee])ing  1  might  speak  therein 
of  her  for  whom  so  much  sorrow  had  destroyed  my 
spirit;  and  I  then  began  "  The  eyes  that  weep." 

That  this  poem  maif  seem  to  remain  the  more 
widotred  at  its  close,  I  null  divide  it  before  writing 
it;  and  this  method  I  n'ill  observe  henceforward.     I 

[58] 


say  that  tJiis  poor  little  poem  has  three  parts.  The 
first  is  a  prelude.  In  the  second,  I  speak  of  her. 
In  the  third,  I  speak  pitifully  to  the  poem.  The 
second  begins  here,  '"  Beatrice  is  gone  up;  "  the 
third  here,  "  Jf'eep,  pitiful  Song  of  mine."  The 
first  divides  into  three.  In  the  first,  I  say  what 
moves  me  to  speak.  In  the  second,  I  say  to  whom 
I  mean  to  speak.  In  the  third,  I  say  of  whom  I 
mean  to  speak.  The  second  begins  here,  "  And  be- 
cause often,  thinking;"  the  third  here,  "  And  I  trill 
say."  Then,  when  I  say,  "  Beatrice  is  gone  up,"  I 
speak  of  her;  and  concerning  iliis  I  have  two  parts. 
First,  I  tell  tiie  cause  why  she  was  taken  awaif 
from  us:  afterwards,  I  say  how  one  ireeps  her  part- 
ing; and  this  part  commences  here,  "  Jl'onder fully." 
This  part  divides  into  three.  In  the  first,  I  say  who 
it  is  that  weeps  her  not.  In  the  second,  I  say  who 
it  is  that  doth  weep  her.  In  the  third,  I  speak  of 
my  condition.  The  second  begins  here,  "  But  sigh- 
ing comes,  and  grief  ;  "  the  third,  "  With  sighs." 
Then,  when  I  say,  "  Weep,  pitiful  Song  of  mine," 
I  speak  to  this  my  song,  telling  it  what  ladies  to 
go  to,  and  stay  ivitli. 

The  eyes  that  wtip  l'or  jjily  of  the  lieart 

Have  wept  so  long  tliat  their  grief  languishetli, 
And  tliey  ha\e  no  more  tears  to  we»  p  witlial  : 
And  now,  if  I  wouhl  ease  me  of  a  ))art 
Of  what,  litth-  l)y  litth-.  hads  to  death. 
It  must  he  done  hy  speeeh,  or  not  at  all. 
And  heeause  often,  thinking,  I   reeall 
How  it  was   pleasant,  ere  she  went  afar. 
To  talk  of  her  with  you,  kind  damozels, 
I  talk  with  no  one  else, 
But  oidy  with  such  liearts  as  women's  are. 

[59] 


Zl)t  pcUj  ilifc 

Ami    J    will  s.iy,      .siili  mìMiìiij^  .is  spccli   f.iijs. 
Tliat  .slu'  hath  front-  to  Ht-avtii  .sii(ldtiil\  , 
And  h.itli  IcÉt  I.ovc  hcjow.  to  moiirii  uitli  me. 


Hc.ltric'<'    is    i,rollf    up    into    lliirli     Ilf.lVttl. 

I'lu-  kingdom  when    the  .iiif^cls  .in-  .-it   pt-ao»' ; 
And  livts  with  tluin;  and  to  liir  Crit-nds  is  dead. 
Not  hy  tin-  I'rost  of  wintir  was  shr  driven 
Away,  like  otiier.s;  iu)r  by  snniincr-iie.its  ; 
Hut  tliroiiffji  a  j)«.TtVc-t  f^entleness.  instead. 
l"or  from  the  lanij)  of  her  meek  lowlihead 
Swell  ,in  exceedinj;  glory  went  up  hence 
'rii.it  it  woke  wonder  in  the  Kternal  Sire, 
L  iitil  ;i  sweet  desire 
Entered  Him  for  th.at  lovely  exeellenee. 

So  th.it  He  hade  her  to  Himself  aspire; 
Counting  this  weary  and  most  evil  plaec 
Unwortiiy  of  a  thing  so  full  of  grace. 

M'onderfully  out  of  the  beautiful  form 

Soared  her  clear  sj)irit,  waxing  glad  the  while; 
And  is  in  its  first  home,  there  where  it  is. 
Who  sjjeaks  thereof,  and  feels  not  the  tears  warm 
L  j)on  his  faci-,  must  have  become  so  vile 
As  to  bi'  dead  to  all  sweet  symp.ilhies. 
Out  upon  him!  .an  abject  wr»teh  like  this 
May  not  imagine  anything  of  her,- 

He  needs  no  bitter  te.irs  for  his  relief. 
Hut  sighing  comes,  and  grief. 
And  the  desire  to  find  no  comforter, 

(Save  only  Death,  who  makes  all  sorrow  brief). 
To  him  who  for  a  while  turns  in  his  thought 
How  she  hath  been  among  us,  and  is  not. 

[60] 


Ziyc  j;>cUj  ìlifc 

With  si^lis  my  bosom  always  labourcth 
III  tliinking,  as  1  do  continually. 

Of  iicr  for  whom  my  heart  now  hrt-aks  apace; 
And  very  often  whin  I  think  of  death. 

Swell  a  jrreat  inward  lonj^jng  comes  to  me 
That  it  will  ehanu;e  the  eolour  of  my  face; 
And,  if  the  idea  settles  in  its  j)laee, 
All  my  limhs  shake  as  with  an  a<>;ue-fit: 
Till,  starting  up  in  wild  bewilderment, 
I  do  become  so  shent 
That  I  go  forth,  lest  folk  misdoul)t  of  it. 
Afterward,  calling  with  a  sore  lament 
On  Beatrice,  1  ask,  "  Canst  thou  be  dead? 
And  calling  on  her.  1  am  eomtorted. 

Grief  with  its  tears,  and  anguish  with  its  sighs, 
Come  to  me  now  whene'er  I  am  alone; 

So  that  1  think  the  sight  of  me  gives  ))ain. 
And  what  my  life  hath  been,  that  living  dit  s. 
Since  for  my  lady  the  New  Birth's  begun, 
I  have  not  any  language  to  explain. 
And  so,  dear  ladies,  though  my  heart  wt  re  fain, 
I  scarce  could  tell  indeed  how  I  am  thus. 
All  joy  is  with  my  bitter  life  at  war; 
Yea,  I  am  fallen  so  far 
That  all  men  seem  to  say,  "  (io  out  i  rom  us,  " 

Kyeing  my  cold  white  lijis,  how  dead  they  are. 
But  she,  though   I   be  bowed  unto  the  dust. 
Watches  me;  and  will  guerdon  me.   I  trust. 

Weep,  pitiful  Song  of  mine,  upon  thy  way, 
To  the  dames  going  and  the  damozels 
For  whom  and  for  none  else 

Thy  sisters  have  made  music  many  a  day. 

Thou,  tliat  art  very  sad  and  not  as  they. 

Go  dwell  thou  with  them  as  a  mourner  dwells. 

I    ()1    1 


♦Che  Orili  Ulte 

Afttr  I  li.ul  wrilli  II  llii>  |,in  in.  1  ricti\r(l  tilt-  visit 
(»f  .1  l'riciid  wlioiii  I  foMiilcd  .is  sccoikI  unto  tur  in 
tlic  (k\ur«'cs  of  ("riiii(lslii|).  .iiid  wlio,  iiiorcovtr,  liad 
Ikcii  uiiit«'(l  l)y  tilt-  lu.irrst  kiiuln-d  tn  tli.it  most 
gracious  crfalun".  And  wlicii  \vf  liad  a  liltir  spoki-n 
to<;rtli»T,  lit'  l)»<xan  to  solicit  me  that  I  would  writ»- 
sonu'wiiat  in  nifiiiory  of  a  lady  who  had  dit-d;  and 
In-  disjruiscd  his  sptrch,  so  as  to  si'i'Ui  to  iu-  spi-ak- 
iii<r  of"  aiiothtT  wiio  was  hut  lately  (h-ad:  wli«T<fort* 
I,  p«rc(i\  ill»;  that  his  spci-fh  was  of  iioiw  otiur  than 
that  hlt'ssfd  one  htrsclt',  toh!  him  that  it  should  In- 
done  as  lie  n  (juind.  Tiieii  afterwards.  li.-i\  inj; 
thought  lluri-of,  1  iiii  i';:iiied  to  gi\t-  vi-ut  in  a  sonnet 
to  some  part  ot"  my  hichh-n  lamentations;  but  in  surh 
sort  that  it  mi<;ht  seem  to  l)e  spoken  by  this  friend 
of  mine,  to  whom  I  was  to  givt-  it.  And  tin-  sonmt 
saitli  thus:  "  Stay  now  with  m»-,  "  ete. 

77//.V  .soiiiK't  li(i.s  tiro  parts.  In  Ihr  first,  I  call  the 
I'dilli fnl  of  Love  to  iutir  inc.  In  the  second,  I  re- 
late niij  iniscrahic  coiKlition.  The  second  begins 
here,  "  Marl,  lunr  tlici/  force." 


Stay  now  with  me.  and  listen  to  my  sighs, 

Yv  ])itt-ous  hearts,  as  ])ity  bids  ye  do. 

Mark    how    they    force    tlieir   w.iy    out    and    |)rcss 
thrtuiiili  ; 
If  they  be  oiie(-  ptnt  up,  tht-  whole  life  dii-s. 
Seeing  that  now  indeed  my  wi-ary  eyt-s 

Oflem-r  refusi-  ili  in   I  tan  tell  to  you. 

(  l'',\i-n  though  my  eiidli  ss  gri(-f  is  excr  new.) 
To  weep  and  let  lli<-  smother«-d  anguish  rise. 
Also  in  sighing  ye  shall   hear  me  c.ill 

On  lu-r  whose-  bh-ssèd  presene»-  doth  eiiri<-h 
'I'lir  only  home  that  wrM  befillelh  her: 


Zi)c  J^clD  àlifc 

And  ye  shall  hear  a  bitter  scorn  ot  all 

Sent  from  the  inmost  of  my  spirit  in  speech 
That  mourns  its  j<»y  ami  its  joy's  minister. 

IJut  when  I  had  written  tliis  sonnet,  hetliinking 
me  wlio  he  was  to  whom  I  was  to  give  it,  tliat  it 
miff  lit  apj)ear  to  be  his  speeeh,  it  seemed  to  me  tiiat 
this  was  bnt  a  poor  and  barren  gift  for  one  of  her 
so  near  kindred.  Wherefore,  before  giving  him  this 
sonnet.  I  wrote  two  stan/as  of  a  jxieni:  the  first 
being  wriltrn  in  \  try  sootli  as  though  it  were  spoken 
by  him.  but  the  otiier  being  mine  own  speeeh,  allxit, 
utilo  one  who  should  not  look  elosely,  they  would 
both  seem  to  be  said  by  the  same  person.  Never- 
theless, looking  elosely.  one  nnist  })ereeivi'  that  it 
is  not  so,  inasmueh  as  one  docs  not  call  this  most 
gracious  creature  his  hulif.  and  the  other  does,  as  is 
manifestly  aj)i)areMt.  And  I  gave  the  ])oem  and  the 
sonnet  unto  my  t  riend.  saying  that  I  had  made  them 
only  for  him. 

I'lic  poem  hririns,  "  Jf'haterer  triiilf,"  and  iuis 
two  parts.  Ill  the  first,  fhat  in,  in  tlic  first  stanza, 
this  nil/  dear  friciiil,  her  hiiismaii,  laments.  In  the 
second,  I  lament  ;  that  is,  in  tiie  otiier  stanza,  ivìiirìi 
begins,  "For  ever."  .ln<l  tints  it  appears  tlial  in 
this  poem  tiro  persons  lament,  of  irlioin  one  laments 
as  a  brother,  the  other  as  a  servant. 

\\  H ATKVKH  while  till'  thought  eomes  over  me 
riiat  I  may  not  again 

liehold  that  lady  whom  I   mouni  for  now. 
About  uiy  heart  iny  mind  brings  eonslantly 
So  much  of  exlreme  paiti 

'I'liat  I  say.  Soul  of    luitK  .  why  stayest  thou.'' 
Truly  the  anguish.  Soul,  that  we  must  Imjw 

I  03  1 


ZUc  Of  111   Uifc 

lirni'.itli,  until  «<■  win  oiil  ol   llns  lilC, 

(iivis  UIC  full  oft  ;i  ff.ir  tli.it  trriiil)Uth: 
So  tli.it  I  cill  on  D.-.itli 

l',\tn  .IS  on  Sl«c|i  one  c.illi  tli  .iftcr  strifi-, 
S.iyinjf.  Colili-  unto  me.     Life  sliowi-tli  j^riin 
Anil  li.irr;  .ind  if  oin-  dirs.  I  tiivy  liiin. 

l''or  «-ver,  .•iinoiif";  .ill  my  si^lis  wliicli  Imrn. 
'riicrc  is  .1   piteous  .s|)««cli 

Tli.it  {l.-iniours  upon    Df.itli   ronlinu.illy  : 
^  ci.  unto  liini  (li)tli  my  whole  spirit  turn 
Since  first  liis  ii.ind  did  r»;u'li 

My  l.idys  life  with  most  foul  cruelty. 
Hut  I  roiii  the  liii^ht  of  woin.ins  f;iirness.  she. 
(ioin^  up  t  roll)  us  with  the  joy  we  li.id, 
(ircw  pt  rf((tly  .ind  spiritu.illy  l.iir; 
'rii.it  so  she  spri'.ids  even  there 
A  lijflit  of  Love  which  m;ikes  the  Angels  ^l.id. 
And  even  unto  their  suhtle  minds  c.in   hriii^ 
A  ccrt.'ii?!  .iwe  of  profound  m.ir\ cllin^. 

(  )n  Ih.it  day  wliicli  liilfilird  llie  yc.ir  since  my 
Inly  li.id  been  made  ol  the  litizeiis  of  elern.il  life, 
rniH  inhering  me  of  her  .'is  I  s;it  .iloiie.  I  lietook 
iiiysrit  to  (Ir.iw  the  rescmhl.-iiu'c  ot  in  iii^el  upon 
c<rt.iin  t.ihlets.  And  while  I  did  thus,  cli.-mcing  to 
turn  my  Iie.id.  I  perceived  th.it  some  were  standing 
beside  nie  to  whom  I  should  h.ive  jriveii  courteous 
welcome,  .md  tli.it  they  wer<-  observing  wli.it  I  did: 
.liso  I  Ir.inied  .ifterw.irds  tli.it  they  had  been  there 
.1  wliiU-  befon  I  perceived  them.  I'erctiving  whom. 
I  arose  for  s,iliit.ilinii.  .ind  s.iid:  "Another  w;is  with 
me." 

,\l  terw.irds.  win  n  they  h.id  h  ft  me.  I  set  myselt 
ag.iin    to    mine    occup.ition,    to    wit.   to    the   dr.iwing 

I    «t    I 


€J)C  ||>ftu  llifc 

figures  of  nnfjrls:  in  doing  which  I  concrivcd  to 
writf  of  this  in.ittcr  in  rhynir,  as  for  hrr  anni- 
versary, and  to  address  my  rhymes  unto  those  who 
had  just  left  me.  It  was  then  that  I  wrote  the 
sonnet  which  saitli,  *'  That  lady:  "  and  as  this  son- 
net hath  two  eommtneiinents,  it  behoveth  me  to 
divide  it  with  both  of  them  lier«". 

/  saji  Ihdl,  (iccorfliiifi  to  the  first,  this  soniiet  h<is 
three  parts.  In  the  first,  I  saif  that  this  lady  nas 
then  in  vitf  tnemori/.  In  the  second,  I  tell  what  Love 
therefore  did  with  me.  In  the  third,  I  speak  of  the 
effects  of  Love.  The  second  he^ins  here,  "  Love, 
knowing;"  the  third  here,  "Forth  went  thri/." 
This  part  divides  into  two.  In  the  one,  I  sai/  that 
all  mji  sighs  issued  speakin<s.  In  the  other,  I  sai/ 
how  some  spoke  certain  words  different  from  the 
others.  The  second  heirins  here,  "  And  still."  In 
this  same  manner  is  it  divided  with  the  other  he- 
ginning,  save  that,  in  the  first  part,  I  tell  wlien  this 
ladji  had  thus  come  into  mi/  mind,  and  this  I  say 
not  in  the  other. 


That  lady  of  all  g»'ntle  memories 

Had  lighted  on  my  soul; — whose  new  abode 
Lies  now,  as  it  was  well  ordained  of  (jod, 

Among  the  jxior  in  heart,  wheri'  Mary  is. 

Love,  knowing  that  dear  image  to  he  his. 

Woke  up  within  the  sick  heart  sorrow-how d. 
L  nto  the  sigl'.s  which  are  its  wtary  load 

Saying,  "  Go  forth."     And  they  wtiit  forth,  I  wis; 

Forth  went  they  from  my  breast  that  throbbed  and 
ached  ; 
With  such  a  pang  as  oftentimes  will  bathe 

Mine  eyes  with  tears  when   I   am   left  alone. 

[  f)5  ] 


Z\]c  Of  111   Uiff 

And    still    flidsi     M^'lis    svinili    (In  w    tin-    lifnviest 
l.n  Mill 
(line  wIlisptTillt;  tlms:  "  ()  Iiolilr   illtrllrcl  I 
It  is  .1  Vf.ir  tn-d.iy  that  llniu  art  gone." 

S  K;  «  (  )  M  )    (    <  >  M  M  K  N  «  K  M  K  N  T. 

Til  AT  lady  nl   all  jfiiitlr  mrinorirs 

Had  li^^litcd  on  my  simj  ;    -tor  wliosc  sake  flnw'd 
Ilu-  tiars  ot    I,o\c;  in  wIhuii  tlir  |»()\v<  r  aliodi- 

^^'lli(•ll  Ii-d  you  to  ol)s(T\i    \vliil<    I  did  this. 

I.o\c.  knowiiiLj  that  dear  iniajjc  to  Ik    his.  etc. 

'I'litn.  h.i\  ill".;  sat  lor  sonu-  space  sori-ly  in  tlioupht 
hci-aiisf  of  the  timi-  that  was  now  past.  I  was  so 
tìllrd  with  dolorous  iinaf;ininj;s  that  it  luTamc  out- 
wardly manifest  in  ininc  alt«'rr(l  fountt-naiuT. 
Whereupon,  feeling  this  and  luinj;  in  dread  lest  any 
should  havi-  seen  me,  I  lifted  mine  eyes  to  look;  and 
then  perceivt'd  a  younj;  and  very  beautiful  lady, 
who  was  gaziiiif  ii|)iiii  iiu  from  a  window  with  a 
gaze  full  of  pity,  so  that  IIk  \«Ty  sum  of  pity  ap- 
peared gathered  togeth»  r  in  her.  And  seeing  that 
unhappy  persons,  when  they  beget  compassion  in 
others,  are  then  most  moved  unto  weeping,  as  though 
they  also  felt  pity  for  themselves,  it  came  to  pass 
that  mine  ives  began  to  be  inclined  unto  tears. 
Wherefore,  becoming  fearful  lest  I  should  make 
manifest  mine  abj»et  condition,  I  rose  up,  and  went 
where  I  et)uld  not  be  seen  of  that  lady;  saying  after- 
wards within  myself:  "  Certainly  with  her  also  must 
abide  most  noble  Love."'  And  with  that,  I  resolved 
upon  writing  a  sonnet,  wlnrein,  speaking  unto  her, 
I  should  say  all  that  I  have  just  said.  And  as  this 
sonnet  is  very  evident.  I  will  not  divide  it: — 

I  m  I 


Zl)(  peto  llifc 

Mine  eves  liditld  llic  bKs.scd  |)ily  spririj^ 

lilt»  thy  roiiiiltiiaiicf  imiiudi.ilcly 

A  while  .ijroiK',  when  thou  IxIk  Id.st  in  ine 
Tilt"  sickness  only  hichhn  ^riit  c.in  hriiif^; 
And  then  I  km  w  tliou  wast  considering 

How  ahjeet  .ind  I'orhirn  my  life  must  lie; 

And  I  hecamt   afraid  that  thou  sliouhlst  see 
My  weepinjr,  and  account  it  a  liase  thiii<i;. 
Therefore  I  went  out  from  thee:  feeliuii  liow 

The  t<ars  were  strai<;htway  loosened  at  my  he.irt 
IJeiu-ath  thine  eyes'  compassionate  control. 
And  afterwards  I  said  witiiin  my  soul: 

"  Lo!  with  this  lady  dwells  the  coimlerpart 
Of  the  same  Love  who  holds  nii    weeping  now.  " 

It  happt  lied  after  this,  that  whciis«)i\ cr  I  was 
seen  ol  this  lady,  she  bi-came  ])ale  and  of  a  piteous 
countenance,  .is  though  it  had  been  with  lo\c; 
whcrehv  she  rememhered  me  many  times  of  my  own 
most  noble  lady,  who  was  wont  to  be  of  a  liki'  pale- 
ness. And  I  know  that  often,  when  I  could  not 
weej)  nor  in  any  way  give  casi-  unto  mine  anguisji. 
I  went  to  look  upon  this  lady,  who  seemed  to  bring 
the  tears  into  my  eyes  by  the  mere  sight  of  her.  Of 
the  which  thing  I  bethought  nie  to  speak  unto  l:cr 
in  rhyme,  and  then  made  this  sonnet:  which  begins. 
"  Love's  jiallor,  "  and  which  is  ])lain  without  Ixiiiii 
divided,  by  its  exj)osition  aforesaid: — 

Love's  pallor  and  the  semblance  of  deep  ruth 

Were  never  yet  shown  forth  so  j)erfcctly 

In  any  lady's  face,  chancing  to  see 
Grief's  miserable  countenance  unccnith. 
As  in  thine,  lady,  they  have  sprung  to  soothe, 

\\'hcn  in  mine  anguish  thou  hast  looked  on  me; 

Until  sometimes  it  seems  as  if.  through  thee, 

I  f)T  1 


«The  OfUi  llifc 

Mv  lic.irt  niij;lit  .iliiiost  w.iiuh-r  from  its  truth. 
\ i[  si>  it  is.  1  iMiiiidt  lioici  iiiiiii-  «yts 
!•  rolli  gaziti;;  vtry  oltiii  iipoii  lliim- 

In  tlu"  sorr  liopi'  to  slud  tlios»-  tears  tlicv  krcp  ; 
And    it  Midi  tiiin-,  thou  iiiak  st  tlir  |uiit  t«ar.>>  risr 
l.\i  II  to  tlir  lirim,  till  tin-  «yes  wast»'  and  |tiii<-; 
\  t  I  t-aimot  llity,  wliilc  tlioii  art  prrsnit.  wi  i  |>. 

At  Icii^illi.  I>y  llic  coiistaiit  sigili  of  this  lady,  iiiiik 
I'vcs  lngiM  lo  111  gladdciu-d  o\  triiiufli  with  l.cr  i-om 
paiiv;  through  which  thing  many  times  I  lia<i  iiiiii-h 
linn  st.  and  rtlaikrd  inysrlf  as  a  has»-  person:  also, 
many  times  1  t-iirsed  the  unsteadfastmss  of  mini 
ey«s,  and  said  to  them  inwardly:  "  Was  not  your 
gri»vous  f(»nditioii  ol  wi  «  ping  wont  one  while  lu 
make  others  weep?  And  will  ye  now  l"org<t  this 
tiling  because  a  lady  l»)ok»tli  upon  you?  who  s«) 
looketh  mirely  in  eompassion  ot'  the  grief  ye  then 
showed  lOr  your  >wii  hit  ss((l  I.mIv.  Hut  wliatso  y( 
can,  that  do  y»',  accursed  eyes  I  many  a  time  will  I 
make  you  rememher  it  I  for  n»'v»T,  till  death  dry  you 
up.  should  ye  make  an  end  of"  your  weeping.  ' 
And  when  I  had  spoken  thus  unto  mine  eyes.  I  was 
taken  again  with  extrem»'  and  grievous  sighing. 
And  to  till-  end  that  this  inw.ird  strife  which  1  had 
undergone  might  Jiot  he  hidden  fnuii  all  s.i\  ing  the 
niiscr.il  le  wretch  who  t  ndured  it.  I  |)ropose(i  to  write 
a  soniu't,  and  to  coiiiprehend  in  it  this  horrihlc  con- 
dition. And  1  wrote  this,  wliiili  liegins.  "  The  \  ery 
hitter  weeping.  " 

I'lir  xoiiuct  has  tiro  ptiris.  hi  the  first.  I  speak  to 
viij  ri/rs,  as  viij  iicart  spohv  tiitliiii  inifsvlf.  In  tin- 
second,  I  remove  a  <li//itultij,  slioirifig  who  it  is  that 
speaks  thus:  and  this  part  heirins  here,  "  So  far." 
It  well  luiiiht  receive  other  divisious  also:  but  this 

I    f)S    I 


The  Lady  of  Pity 
{Drauiiigby  P.  (.'.  Kossdli) 


Cfjc  |f)cto  3life 

would  be  useless,  since  it   is   manifest  by   the  pre- 
cedinir  ejpositian. 

"  Thk  very  bitter  \veej)ing  that  ye  made 
So  long  a  time  together,  eyes  of  mine. 
Was  wont  to  make  tlie  tears  of  pity  sliine 

In  otlier  eyes  full  oft,  as  I  have  said. 

liiit  now  this  thing  were  scarec  remembered 
If  I,  on  my  part,  foully  would  eombine 
\\'ith  you.  and  not  reeall  eaeh  aneient  sign 

Of  gri«"f,  and  her  for  whom  your  tears  were  shed. 

It  is  your  fiekleness  that  doth  betr.iy 

My  mind  to  tears,  and  makes  me  tremble  thus 
What  while  a  lady  greets  me  with  her  eyes. 

Except  by  death,  we  must  not  .my  way 
Forget  our  lady  who  is  gone  from  us." 

So  far  doth  my  heart  utter,  and  then  .>^ighs. 

The  sight  of  this  lady  lirouglit  mt-  into  so  un- 
wonted a  condition  that  I  often  thought  of  her  as  of 
one  too  dear  unto  me;  and  I  began  to  consider  lier 
thus:  "This  lady  is  young,  beautiful,  gentle,  and 
wise;  ))erehanee  it  was  Love  himself  who  set  her 
in  my  path,  that  so  my  life  might  find  j)eaee."  And 
there  were  times  when  I  thought  yet  more  fondly, 
initil  my  heart  consented  unto  its  reasoning.  But 
when  it  had  so  consented,  my  thought  would  often 
turn  round  upon  me,  as  moved  by  reason,  and  cause 
me  to  say  within  myself:  "  What  hope  is  this  which 
would  console  me  after  so  base  a  fashion,  and  Avhich 
hath  taken  the  jilace  of  all  other  imagining?  "  Also 
there  was  another  voice  within  me,  that  said:  "  And 
wilt  thou,  having  sutìfred  so  much  tribulation 
through  Love,  not  escaj)e  while  yet  thou  mayst  from 
so  much  bitterness.'     Thou  must  surely  know  that 

[G9J 


Che  Infill  Hifr 

this  thoiiglit  c.irrii  s  willi  it  llii-  desirr  oi"  I-civr.  and 
drew  its  lil'c  from  IIk  ;:;i  rilli  (V<'s  of  that  lady  who 
vouchsaffd  lini'  so  imicli  l>it.v."  Wlurt-fort-  I, 
haviiii;  striven  sorily  and  very  often  with  iny.self, 
hethoii^lit  inr  to  say  somewhat  tlnreof  in  rhyme. 
And  si-einjf  that  in  the  l)attl«'  of  doultls.  the  \  ietory 
most  often  r«inained  with  sneh  as  inelined  towards 
the  \:Hly  of  whom  1  speak,  it  seemed  to  me  tliat  I 
slioukl  achlress  this  sonnet  nnto  her:  in  the  Hrst  line 
whereof.  I  «ill  tli.il  tliou^ht  which  spake  of  her  a 
gcntk'  tlioughl.  only  heeanse  it  spoke  of  one  who 
was  genth-;  heing  of  itself  most  vile. 

In  this  .sonnet  I  make  tni/self  into  two,  accordinir 
as  »ii/  thoughts  in  re  diriiled  one  from  the  other. 
The  one  part  I  eall  Heart,  that  is,  appetite;  the 
other,  iSoul,  that  is,  reason;  and  I  tell  what  one  saith 
to  the  other.  And  that  it  is  fìttin-r  to  eall  the  appe- 
tite Heart,  and  the  reason  Soul,  is  manifest  enough 
to  them  to  whom  I  n-ish  this  to  he  open.  True  it  is 
that,  in  the  prceedin<j:  sonnet,  I  take  the  part  of  the 
Heart  airainst  the  Ki/es;  and  that  appears  eontrarif 
to  what  I  sai/  in  the  present;  and  therefore  I  say 
that,  there  also,  /»//  the  Heart  I  mean  appetite,  be- 
cause i/et  (rrcater  teas  in  1/  desire  to  rememher  niif 
most  gentle  ladi/  than  to  see  this  other,  although 
indeed  I  had  some  appetite  towards  her.  but  it  ap- 
peared slight:  where  from  it  appears  thai  the  one 
statement  is  not  contrari/  to  the  other.  This  sonnet 
has  three  parts.  In  the  first,  I  begin  to  sai/  to  this 
ladi/  how  nil/  desires  turn  all  towards  her.  In  the 
second,  I  sai/  how  the  Soul,  that  is,  the  reason, 
speaks  to  the  Heart,  that  is,  to  the  appetite.  In 
the  third,  I  sai/  how  the  latter  answers.  The  second 
begins  here,  "  .Imi  what  is  thisY  "  thc^  third  here, 
"  And  the  heart  aiisirers." 

[TO] 


Zi)c  ji^ftu  itifc 

A  fiKXTLK  11k)Ujj;1iI  tlicrc  is  will  ot'ttii  start, 
Within  my  secret  self,  to  speech  of  thee: 
Also  of  Love  it  speaks  so  tenderly 

That  much  in  me  consents  and  takes  its  part. 

"  And  what  is  this,"  tiie  soul  saith  to  the  heart, 
"  That  conieth  thus  to  comfort  thee  and  me. 
And  thence  where  it  would  dwell,  thus  potently 

(an  drive  all  otliir  thoughts  liy  its  strange  art.'  " 

And  the  heart  answers:  "  lie  no  more  at  strife 

'Twixt  doubt  and  doubt;  this  is  Love's  messenger 
And  speaketh  hut  his  words,  from  him  received  ; 

And  all  the  strength  it  owns  and  all  the  life 
It  draweth   from  the  gentle  eyes  of  her 

Who.  looking  on  our  grief,  hath  often  grieved."' 

But  against  this  adversary  of  reason,  there  rose 
up  in  me  on  a  certain  day,  about  the  ninth  hour,  a 
strong  visible  phantasy,  wherein  I  seemed  to  behold 
the  most  gracious  Beatrice,  habited  in  that  eriuison 
raiment  which  she  had  worn  win  n  I  had  first  be- 
held her;  also  she  apj)eared  to  me  ot  the  same  tender 
age  as  then.  \\'hereupoii  1  ttll  into  dee))  thought 
of  her:  and  my  memory  ran  back,  according  to  tiie 
order  of  time,  unto  all  those  matters  in  the  which  she 
had  borne  a  i)art  ;  and  my  heart  Ixgan  j)ainfully  to 
repent  of  the  desire  by  which  it  had  so  l)ascly  let 
itself  be  possessed  during  so  many  days,  contrary 
to  the  constancy  of  reason. 

And  then,  this  e\il  desire  being  (|\iite  gone  from 
me,  all  my  thoughts  turned  again  unto  their  exci-1- 
lent  Beatrice.  And  F  say  most  truly  that  from  that 
hour  I  thought  constantly  ol  her  with  the  whole 
humbled  and  .ishamed  heart;  tin-  which  became 
often  manifest  in  sighs,  tiiat  liad  among  them  the 
name  of  that  most  gracious  creature,  and  liow  slie 

[71] 


Che  i^cUj  llifc 

(1(  |>.irlt  (I  frolli  US.  AUd  il  winild  iiiiiii-  to  pass  very 
olttii.  tliroii^li  till-  liitttr  .inquisii  ol'  some  one 
tlioujrlit,  tli.it  I  f"(irfj;ot  hotli  it,  .-ind  inysclt',  and 
wliirc  I  w.is.  Hy  this  iiicrcas»-  ot"  sifrlis.  iiiy  wecp- 
iii<;.  which  hct'or»'  had  Incn  soincwliat  K-sseued.  in- 
creascd  in  like  maiiiitr;  so  tliat  iniiu-  «-yes  sfi-nied 
to  l()ii|^  only  for  tc.irs  and  to  chirish  thtin.  and  cainc 
at  Last  to  lu'  circltd  iIkuiI  uilh  red  as  thou^i)  thfV 
liad  suttcred  martyrdom:  m  ith<  r  \v«tc  they  able  to 
look  aj^ain  ii|)on  the  luanty  of  any  face  that  niif^ht 
a^ain  l)rin<;  tlieni  to  shame  and  i\  il  :  from  which 
thin<;s  it  will  appear  that  they  were  fitly  gmrdoned 
for  their  unsteadt  astntss.  Wherefore  I  (wishing 
that  mine  ahandonment  ol"  all  such  evil  desires  and 
\ain  temptations  should  he  certified  and  made  man- 
ifest, luyond  all  douhts  which  mifjjht  have  been  suj;- 
gested  by  the  rhymes  aforewritt«ii  )  proposed  to 
write  a  sonnet  wherein  I  should  express  this  pur- 
port.    And  I  then  wrote.  "  Woe's  me  !    " 

/  said,  "  iVoc's  liif!  "  Ix'causc  I  was  ashamvd  of 
the  trifi'mia;  of  uiiiir  e//e.v.  77//.V  soiuit't  I  do  not 
divide,  since  its  purport  is  liKinifest  eiioiiiili. 

Woe's  me!  by  dint  of  all  these  sighs  that  come 
Forth  of  my  heart,  its  endless  grief  to  jirove, 
Miiu'  eves  are  eon(|uere(l,  so  that  i  \(  n  to  move 

Their  lids  for  greeting  is  grown  troublesome. 

Thev  wept  so  long  that  now  they  are  grief's  home, 
And  count  their  tears  all  laughter  far  alx)vc: 
Thev  wept  till  they  are  circled  now  by   Love 

With  a  rt  (1  circle  in  sign  of  martyrdom. 

These  nmsinus.  and  the  sighs  they  bring  from  me. 
Are  grown  at   last  so  constant  ajid  so  sore 

That    lt)\f    swoons     in     my    spirit    with     faint 
breath  ; 

[72]     . 


HcnriiifT  in  tliosr  s.id  souikIs  coiitiiiu.iìly 

Tlu-  most  swift  iiMiiir  tli.it  my  (If.id  lady  bore. 
With  m.'iny  grii-vous  words  toiK'liin<i:  lur  dtatli 

About  this  timt',  it  haiìpnud  that  a  groat  mimbir 
of  persons  undtrtook  a  pilgrimage,  to  tlie  end  that 
they  might  behold  that  blessed  portraiture  be- 
queathed \nito  us  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  the 
image  of  His  beautiful  eounteii.anee.  (upon  which 
eountenaiiee  my  dear  l.idy  now  looketh  eontinually). 
And  eertain  among  these  pilgrims,  who  seemed  very 
thoughtful,  j)assed  by  a  path  which  is  well-nigh  in 
the  midst  of  the  city  where  my  most  gracious  lady 
was  born,  and  abode,  and  at  last  died. 

Then  I.  beholding  tin  in.  said  within  myself: 
"  Tiiese  ))ilgrims  seem  to  be  come  from  very  far; 
and  I  think  they  cannot  have  he.ird  speak  of  tiiis 
lady,  or  know  anything  coneirning  her.  Their 
thoughts  are  not  of  her.  but  of  other  things;  it  may 
be.  of  their  friends  who  are  far  distant,  and  whom 
we.  in  our  turn,  know  not."     Ami   I  went  on  to  say: 

I  know  that  it  tii(  y  were  of  a  country  near  unto 
us,  they  would  in  some  wist'  seem  disturl)ed.  pass- 
ing through  this  city  which  is  so  full  of  grief." 
And  I  said  also:  "If  I  could  speak  with  them  a 
space,  I  am  certain  that  I  should  make  them  weep 
before  they  went  forth  of  this  city;  for  those  things 
that  they  would  hear  from  me  must  needs  beget 
weeping  in  any." 

And  when  the  last  of  them  had  gone  by  me.  I 
bethought  me  to  write  a  sonnet,  showing  forth  mine 
inward  spcecli  ;  and  that  it  might  seem  the  more 
j)itiful,  I  made  as  though  I  had  spok»'n  it  indeed 
unto  them.  And  I  wrote  this  soiniet.  which  begin- 
neth:  "  Ye  pilgrim-folk."     I  made  use  of  the  word 

[73] 


the  Orili  If  if  e 

j)'iliir'ìì!i  for  its  iriiiir.il  siirnilic.ition  ;  lor  "  pilj^riin 
may  he  undir.stood  in  two  miiscs,  out  ^jtiural.  aiid 
one  special.  Gtiii  r.il.  so  far  as  any  man  may  lie 
called  a  jiil^rim  who  leavttii  tlir  piaci-  of  liis  birth; 
whereas,  more  narrowly  speakini;.  In-  only  is  a  j)il- 
fjrim  who  «ijotlh  towards  or  frowards  the  House  of 
St.  James,  l'or  there  are  three  separate  (hnomina- 
tions  proper  mito  those  who  undertake  journiys  to 
the  jrlory  ot  Ciod.  They  are  called  I'almirs  who  j;o 
!)(  yond  tile  seas  eastward,  wlienee  oltiii  linv  l)rin^- 
paim-I)raM<-iies.  And  l'ii<;rims.  as  I  liavi-  said,  are 
tiiey  wild  joiiniiy  unto  tlie  lioiy  House  of(iallicia; 
sccinn'  tliat  no  otiier  apostle  was  huried  so  far  from 
his  l)irtlij)Iace  ;is  was  the  Messed  Saint  .lames.  ,\nd 
there  is  a  third  sort  who  are  called  Homers;  in  that 
they  ^o  whither  tliese  whom  I  ha\c  called  pil^frims 
went:  which  is  to  say.  unto  Home. 

This  .soil uri  IS  not  (Uridcd,  iicciiusc  its  oirii  irortls 
SII  f/i  eie  II 1 1  If  (Icrldic  it. 

Vk   pii^riiii-folk,  n(i\  ancin;:,'  pensively 

As  if  in  thouyiit  of  distant  thinjrs.  I  pray. 

Is  your  own  land  indeed  so  far  away 
As  hy  your  aspect  it  woidd  seem  to  he 
That  tliis  our  heavy  sorrow  leaves  you  I  ree 

Thouffli  passili^-  tlirouiih  tiie  monrnfui  town  mid 
way  : 

Like  inilo  men  liiat  midi  rstaiid  to-day 
Xotliin<r  at  ail  of  her  <>reat  misery.' 
Vet  if  ye  will  hut  stay,  whom  I  accost. 

And  listen  to  my  words  a  little  space. 

At  piiny'  ye  sh.ill  mourn  with  a  l(»ud  xmce. 
It  is  lur  Beatrice  that  she  hath  lost; 

Of  whom  the  least  word  spoken  holds  such  grace 
That  men  weep  liearin<;  it.  and  have  no  choice. 

[74] 


The  Salutaticn  of  Beatucc  in  Eden 
(Dra-wiHjr  by  D.  G.  Kossetli) 


Clic  pfU)  Ilifc 

A  wliilf  aftir  tliis<'  lliiiij^N.  [\\i)  gtiitlf  ladies  snit 
unto  iiif,  prayiiif;  tliat  I  would  bestow  upon  tlwin 
certain  of  tlitst-  idv  rliyints.  And  I  (taking;  into 
acrount  tluir  wortliint-ss  and  consideration)  re- 
solved that  I  would  write  also  a  new  tiling,  and  s«'nd 
it  them  together  with  those  others,  to  the  end  that 
their  wishes  might  be  more  honourably  fulfilled. 
Therefore  I  made  a  soiuiet.  wliieh  narrates  my  con- 
dition, and  wliieh  I  caused  to  lie  conveyed  to  them, 
accompanied  by  tin  one  preceding,  and  with  that 
other  which  begins,  "  Stay  now  with  me  and  listen 
to  my  sighs."  And  the  new  sonnet  is,  "  IJevond  the 
sphere." 

This  suiniet  comprises  fire  parts.  In  the  first,  I 
tell  trhither  nii/  thoitirht  iruetii,  nainiiig  the  place  l>i/ 
the  name  of  one  of  its  effects.  In  the  second,  I  saif 
wherefore  it  ^oeth  up,  and  n'ho  makes  it  i^o  thns. 
In  the  third,  I  tell  what  it  scnr,  namelif,  a  ladif  hon- 
oured, .ind  I  then  call  it  a  "  I'ilirriin  Spirit,"  he- 
cause  it  goes  up  spiritu(dl  11 ,  and  lihe  a  pilgrim  nho 
is  out  of  his  known  country.  In  the  fourth,  I  sai/ 
how  the  spirit  sees  her  such  (that  is,  in  such 
qualitif  )  that  I  cannot  understand  her;  that  is  to  sai/, 
nnf  thought  rises  into  the  (jualitif  of  her  in  a  degree 
that  mij  intellect  cannot  compreiiend,  seeing  that 
our  intellect  is,  towards  those  hlesseil  souls,  lihe  our 
eife  weak  against  the  sun;  and  this  the  Philosopher 
saifs  in  the  Second  of  the  .Metaphifsics.  In  the 
fifth,  I  sai/  that,  although  I  cannot  see  there  irhither 
my  thought  carries  me — that  is,  to  her  admirahle 
essence — /  at  least  understand  this,  namely,  that  it 
is  a  thought  of  my  lady,  hecause  I  often  hear  her 
name  therein,  .ind,  at  the  end  of  this  fifth  part,  I 
say,  "  Ladies  mine,"  to  show  that  tlicy  are  ladies 
to  wham  I  speak.     The  second  part  begins,  "  A  new 

[75] 


€f)c  li^ftu  %ìfc 

perception  ;  "  tin-  third,  "  ll'lini  it  ìuiili  reached  ;  " 
the  fourth,  "  //  .v<'«'.v  her  such;  "  the  fifth,  "  And  i/et 
I  knoiv."  It  might  be  divided  i/et  more  nireli/,  and 
made  yet  clearer;  hut  this  division  mat/  pass,  and 
therefore  I  stay  not  to  divide  it  further. 


Beyond  the  splierc  wliicli  sjireads  to  widest  space 
Now  soars  the  si<;h  tliat  my  heart  sends  above: 
A  new  j)eree])tion  born  of  grieving  Love 

Guideth  it  upward  the  untrodden  ways. 

When  it  hath  reached  unto  the  end,  and  stays. 
It  sees  a  lady  round  wlioni  sjilendours  move 
In  homage;  till,  by  the  great  liglit  thereof 

Abashed,  the  pilgrim  spirit  stands  at  gaze. 

It  sees  her  sueh,  that  whrn  it  tells  me  this 
\\'iiieh  it  hath  seen,  I  understand  it  not, 

It  hath  a  speech  so  subtile  and  so  fine. 
And  yet  I  know  its  voice  within  my  thought 

Often  remembereth  me  of  Beatrice  : 

So  that  I  understand  it,  ladies  mine. 

After  writing  this  sonnet,  it  was  given  unto  me 
to  behold  a  very  wonderful  vision:  wherein  I  saw 
things  which  determined  me  that  I  would  say  noth- 
ing further  of  this  most  blessed  one,  until  such  time 
as  I  could  discourse  more  worthily  concerning  her. 
And  to  this  end  I  labour  all  I  can;  as  she  well 
knoweth.  Wherefore  if  it  be  His  pleasure  through 
whom  is  the  life  of  all  things,  that  my  life  continue 
with  me  a  few  years,  it  is  my  hope  that  I  shall  yet 
write  concerning  her  what  hath  not  before  been 
written  of  any  woman.  After  the  which,  may  it 
seem  good  unto  Him  who  is  the  Master  of  Grace, 

[76] 


Cfte  l^ettJ  Itife 

that  my  spirit  should  go  hence  to  behold  the  glory 
of  its  lady  :  to  wit,  of  that  blessed  Beatrice  who  now 
gazeth  continually  on  His  countenance  qui  est  per 
omnia  scecula  benedictus.     Laus  Deo. 


[TTl 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17   •   Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


OCT  1  0  Z005 

UCLA  COI  Lie  .ftu  1 
RECEIVED  ^^^  * 


7  2MB 


II''  ■,';i;'nir;';r; 


AA    000  91?()f)9    (J 


